


it shouldn't have happened

by Emeka



Series: mega-fucked stuff [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Accidental Incest, Birthgasm, Breeding Kink, Cuntboy, Don't Judge Me, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Father/Son Incest, Forced Orgasm, Hebephilia, Impregnation, Infant Death, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Mpreg, Multiple Orgasms, Pedophilia, References to Depression, Sibling Incest, Squirting, sexually aggressive minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2019-08-19 21:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16543043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: vent fic for intrusive thoughts, rip me





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi! I hope you know what you're getting into, and that you're in the proper headspace for something like this--whatever that means for you. If you are using this unhealthily, such as to intentionally trigger yourself, please don't.
> 
> originally wrote this no caps or punctuation, probably missed an i somewhere

He slipped out of bed when he heard noise in the kitchen. What he saw was his father, or mother, the womb that bore him, packing his purse with his keys and wallet.

"Mama?"

Mama looks at him and smiles tightly. He's even all dressed in his scrubs. "Hey, honey. Did I wake you?"

"Did work call?"

"Yeah. Dog got run over." He clicks his tongue. "I'm going to meet the doctor now. Your father is still asleep; if he wakes up before I'm back, tell him what's up, okay?"

He agrees. Mama kisses him, his perfume enveloping them both before leaving.

He contemplates returning to his room, but why would he do that, when his parent's bed is probably all warm and cozy? While it's been a while that he has, he has slept with them in their bed before.

He tiptoes into their room and cuddles up against his father's side. The blankets are still a little warm, but his father is like a furnace.

He sleeps.

He wakes. Just a little. Vaguely he realizes someone's hand is up his nightgown, rubbing a finger between the lips of his barely pubescent slit. It feels good in a distant sort of way.

Father mumbles something into his hair that sounds like 'babe'. Is he mistaking him for mama? It's possible. He takes after him a great deal; they are both fair and small of stature, with short dark hair, and this physical idiosyncrasy that allowed his mama to be a mama despite being a young man in every other aspect.

So it's possible. He should say something, but... something else is keeping him back. He's heard them at night before, as they had what he knew a little of to be sex. Mama always sounded like he enjoyed it, so he wondered how it felt.

It feels good. His skin is tingling. A bundle of nerves and apprehension stirs up in his stomach as he realizes more what's happening, but it's overshadowed by what he feels when father starts rubbing directly on his clit. Dry and sort of rough at first, but it starts going smoother and there's a wet schlick schlick sound. It's a little concerning but somehow right. 

Mama always was loud, but if he is, father might figure it out and stop. He compromises by suffocating his whimpers against the pillow. Father rubs him even more, dragging up and down his entire slit, making long wet slick noises, his callused pad hitting his clit again and again

He's too shocked to scream for his first orgasm. His entire body seems to lock-up and push out with the intense sensation radiating from inside his pussy. His wetness gushes out like a waterfall over his bottom thigh.

oh but father doesn't stop, he's still jilling off his sweet little baby cunt and this time his hips jerk to follow his fingers and oh god oh god

there's so much gushing this time he can actually hear it. The sheet beneath him is soaked and his chest aches from trying not to scream, because he's not too shocked this time, actually he wants to, like he needs to release some of what he's feeling with noise.

His itty bitty clitty feels so good, oh it's no wonder mama makes such noise.

"You came all over my hand, honey," father says, voice scratchy with sleep and maybe something else. His wet palm rubs against his upper thigh before pulling it up and back, over his hip.

He feels alarmed for a moment that they are touching so much--will he figure it out? But father cups and squeezes his dribbling-soaked cunt, and he's back and hot with the realization that when father lets go, his clit is opened up. He can feel the cool air against his heated flesh. It must be all red and shiny, he thinks.

Something presses against it that feels funny. It's not father's hand.

Only when it starts putting pressure on his entrance does he realize what it might be, and it fills him with delicious dismay. He can't let this happen, he can't let it go this far... he squeezes his eyes shut and pushes his face deeper into the pillow.

It nudges into him bit by bit, aided by the slick. He groans when it feels like the head pops in. He's letting it happen. He's letting his father stick his cock in his pussy. Into the same pussy he made by sticking it in mama's pussy.

It feels huge and amazing, like his tiny cunt is wrapped tightly around it. He thought it would hurt, but all it does is feel better the deeper it goes. And so slowly it goes, sawing back and forth into him, not simply pushing, but fucking. 

He feels himself dribbling down the back of his thigh. It shouldn't feel so good, he knows, but knowing that makes it feel even better. This is so wrong. Father doesn't even know it, but he's taken his son's virginity.

In the middle of being sawed into he comes again, much smaller, like an involuntary expulsion of energy. It must feel good for father because he starts going faster and soon he's bottomed into him.

He can't help mewling. His cunt doesn't feel big enough to hold so much cock. He feels even more open to the air now, like he's all stretched-out. Father reaches between his thighs to give him a quick jill before holding onto his thigh for purchase.

He's getting fucked by his father. There's no other way to look at it. His cock slowly drags out of him, dragging what feels like his insides with it, then back out, in, out, is he moaning? His pillow is getting all sloppy with spit.

It's not sudden this time. He can feel the build-up. It gathers in heat, a little in his gut, but mostly in his cunt. It feels abuzz with pleasure. 

"You're always so wet and tight, babe," father mumbles, grip tightening. He's almost slamming into him with long hard strokes, and god, the contrast of being nearly empty then filled again so full and roughly

he screams this time, though he tries to muffle it, he just can't help it. Father doesn't even have the decency to keep it in him to clench on, instead continuing to fuck him. His orgasm feels oddly segmented with only being able to really gush when father's cock is out of him.

"You coming on my cock, babe? Coming all over my thick cock?"

Yes, he wishes he could reply. Yes, I'm coming all over father's huge monster cock. In the hazy numb second between this orgasm and the next he wonders how this happened. He just wanted to go to sleep.

Father keeps deep inside him for this one. It's like an exercise in futility how his baby pussy can't even really tighten on it, it's so big. He feels his cunt frantically pulse as he comes, trying to do something, push it out, maybe. He can't gush with it in.

As he pulses and fidgets and sweats, father hunches against his back and hisses between his teeth. He's so big inside him that he can actually feel him ejaculating, and the knowledge of what that could lead to fills his spasming worthless cunt with more of that delicious dismay, triggering another coming on top the first.

They lay panting together a few minutes, then father pulls out, a flood of both their come pouring out. In a few minutes more, he's snoring.

He cautiously sits up to survey the mess. As he thought, his pussy is all red and swollen with white stuff leaking a little. The blanket beneath them is completely soaked. How is this going to be explained to mama?

Well, all he can do is what he can. He goes to the bathroom to pee and clean himself a little on the outside. He's so squidgy he's sure they'd know somehow otherwise.

As for inside... his hand trembles as he considers it. It might not work, but he should at least try to remove it. He should at least try not to get impregnated by his father.

He pulls his fresh panties up securely over his mound and gets some much-needed sleep. In his own bed, obviously.

Three months later he is filled again with delicious dismay when the rounding of his belly is no longer avoidable. At only eleven, he's going to be a mama too.


	2. this DEFINITELY shouldn't have happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll got no idea how many times i gotta stop myself writing daddy... but the choice of father is v deliberate, mostly because daddy is such a meme by now it just makes me think of daddy kink, which is obvs less serious than actual incest, and a little to show that MC is closer to one parent than the other *i'll take characterization details in underage incest porn for 500 alex* *why? he doesn't even have a name*

It has been over a year since he gave birth to his baby. Mama had been so angry, father so concerned. Who had defiled _their_ baby? There was no way he could answer even though mama cried all the time and he felt genuinely terrible.

He'd spent most of his pregnancy worried it would all get put together. Mama and father talked about that night, he knew, but he couldn't stand being around to eavesdrop. Just hearing father bumping around in the attic and on the roof for leaks made him sick with anxiety.

Going into labor had been its own dismaying experience. They didn't even make it to the hospital, which was good by itself; he'd hate for his parents to pay for the baby he made with his own awfulness. The feeling of pressure on his cunt reminded him of how getting fucked had felt, and his pregnancy-long frustration. The hormones and discovering sex made him half-crazy with desire sometimes, and no amount of touching himself made it better.

In a sick sick way, giving birth was fulfilling. He came on his own child as it passed from his body, clenching helplessly and rolling on its head. Outwardly he tried to only seem pained. He just closed his eyes and screamed.

His baby boy was born like that, and with an infant penis. It seemed oddly fitting, like karma, maybe. It had his--their--father's red hair, but thankfully its eyes stayed blue. 

It gave him a bitter feeling to look at it. His mama could never have a red-haired child, because his recessive was blonde. He knew that from biology class, and the bright buttery blonde hair some of his younger brothers had. He himself and several others had been born with black hair, but he carried his father's red. So when he impregnated him...

He still feels empty and sick. He does not dare to be sexually active, even with his past experience. The local boys his age have no appeal for him, and he's smart enough to know pursuing an older man would be unwise.

But he can't stop what he thinks about.

Every night it seems he dreams about how bad and good it had been, how hard and often he came, how amazing his father's cock felt fucking into him. Sometimes he comes in his dreams but more often he wakes nearly crying with a crushing awareness of how wrong what he wants is while he stuffs his meager fingers into himself and pretends it's his father inside him.

He can't take it. It's driving him crazy. Just thinking about it in class soaks his panties. He even feels jealous of mama now when he hears him carrying on because he knows how good he's getting it.

If _he_ was getting dicked regularly, it would make this crying squalling thing much more worth it.

Eventually he comes to the reluctant conclusion that he has to make it happen again. Even if he gets pregnant again, it'll be worth it. Please, he just needs to get fucked.

Maybe as close a repeat as possible of the first time would work. It's not hard staying up when the baby so often needs feeding, but he tries to be aware of where mama is. Emergencies like that don't happen very often, and even when they do, it's not normally in the middle of the night.

He is a little past thirteen when he gets his chance. Maybe the long wait even worked in his favor; the baby sleeps much longer at a time, so there's smaller chance of it interrupting.

Mama is called away for an obstruction. He does not know a lot of what mama does, except that this kind of thing often involves tests, x-rays, and surgery. Sounds busy enough. He does not get up to say goodbye because he does not want mama knowing he was awake at all this night. 

He's concerned a little he's not being careful enough, that he's not really sure how long it'll take, that his pussy's throbbing is thinking for him... but he's so desperate he can't talk himself out of it.

(a nasty part inside him says that even if he is caught, he can blame it on father... but he could never in good conscience do that)

He walks to his parent's room with his wet slit squelching with every step. Without panties, some of it runs down his thigh.

He lays down in mama's spot, his back to his father, and trembling, waits. What if it doesn't happen? What if father sleeps through the night? There's really nothing he can do about it though. All he can do is hope.

So hope he does, drowsing eventually. Father does move a little, and throws his arm around him, but it's just for a hug. He tries not to nudge him into place, in case it's not an accident. Maybe father knows it's his son beside him. Maybe this time mama told him he was leaving.

Probably not, he sees eventually. Father's hand starts creeping lower, not exactly groping, but caressing in a way he wouldn't his child. His flat chest, soft stomach, and then--oh god finally--his naked pubic mound (he'd seen mama out of the shower a few times, and thought it best to do the same to maintain the illusion). 

A wave of ecstatic excitement shivers through his body when his fingers dip into his slimy slit.

"Christ, baby," father mumbles, "you're soaking wet."

Not daring to answer, he just makes a mumbly whimpery sound.

His fingers slide down on either side of his clit, twiddling it between them. "You're so sticky. I don't think I've felt you this wet since you sat on my cock when we were watching that movie with the kids, remember? Under the blanket?"

Another whimpery sound. He tries to remember what occasion this might have been, but either they were good at hiding it or he was too innocent to notice. He can't believe his mama would do something like that, but maybe it was a time they were little and in the way a lot, and mama's cunt was starving to get fucked. He can empathize.

"We didn't have to move at all," father continues in a slow, mumbly voice, fingers still sliding up and down his slit. "Just felt you getting wetter and wetter, squeezing all over me, and when you finally came, you exploded all over my cock. Left a huge wet stain on my jeans."

Hearing about his mama coming triggers his own. Just all the stimulus adding up, he tries to convince himself, over mental images of mama quietly soaking father's cock with his children nearby. He gushes thick and sticky come all over his thighs and father's hand.

It's a good one, but he still feels unsatisfied.

He whimpers, pushing his butt back. Please just get the idea and put it in. 

Father chuckles. "Eager, aren't you? What's got you all wound-up?"

Thankfully, it seems he doesn't have to answer. Father continues on by himself, but he's starting to get the uneasy idea that he might be waking up a bit too much. "I bet you're ready to start trying again." Father's voice softens, and his other hand reaches beneath to pull him closer. "I know it upset you, what with... what happened, and the new baby. But everything's going to be fine."

Hearing this leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He can't hear about mama's emotional difficulties when he's trying to make it happen again... sorry, mama. He's also vaguely annoyed that trying for another is an option when there's already six of them. Here he thought they were just unlucky.

Father presses close against his back, and he can finally feel it, his cock sliding inbetween his sticky thighs. Just a little bit higher... it slides in and out tortuously slow, angling higher bit by bit, until it finally dives through his messy pussy. His desperate clit rides over his cock for every thrust, and he can't help slightly moving his hips back and forth to follow.

"You've got my cock drenched in your pussy-juice," father mumbles right behind his ear. His fingers smack down on his clit, making a very audible wet soppy sound. 

If it had just been the one, he'd be able to hold on more. But between the sliding and the popping, the wet creamy sounds of his own immorality, he comes fairly soon. He presses his clit down on the cock as hard as he can (not very, with father's grip still on him) as he does but it's still not enough.

Like he had two years ago, father pulls up his upper leg to rest on his hip, leaving him open and vulnerable in the center. When father touches him, his fingers come away with thick cobwebs of slime. And father keeps touching, he thinks less to excite and more out of awe, because he keeps doing that, looking at the strands. Then he'll give him a quick pop, or rapidly finger-fuck him, apparently just to hear the sounds.

He'd say he can't understand, but he does. Because it arouses him too. His trash pussy is all wet and noisy at the mere prospect of getting his father's hard cock in it.

But finally father stops playing with him, and something soft but firm rubs back and forth against his entrance, sometimes slipping in his slickness up between his lips. In an instant anticipation has his whole body feverishly hot. It's finally going to happen, what he's been waiting so long for.

He muffles a moan into his hand as it slowly squeezes into his drenched baby pussy with the same back and forth motion he has committed to his body's memory. This fullness, this is _it_ , his cock forcing him open bit by bit, forcing him to feel good despite himself and how wrong it is and

he thinks something unintelligible and rushed about his father's amazing taboo cock in his son's willing bred cunt and _comes_ screaming with his teeth in his palm and eyes crossed because there's no way he can focus on anything except his pussy imploding with wet heat and it's so so good just how he knew it would be

vaguely he's aware of his come thickly gushing out all over himself, likely already making a mess on the sheets but he is too far gone to care.

Father mutters something, what the hell or something similar, but all he really hears is the astounded tone.

He comes down soon, body trembling hard but still ready. It's like a taste just primed him for more. Like giving a man in the desert a small cup of water.

Father is talking to him but it's hard to pay attention. Something in his voice sounds like something that should worry him--are you okay?

Please don't, he thinks, but if he's caught then he's caught, and maybe part of him even wants to be. It's what he deserves, after all.

His leg is let down, and father pulls his cock from his cunt before pulling him over onto his back, murmuring comforting things all the while. They're face to face now (and whilst he can he hungrily notes every part of his father's anatomy) but he doesn't react, even while putting his blessed cock back into him, because he looks just enough like mama that it isn't immediately obvious. He's not looking for a difference. Why would he?

It's only when father leans over to kiss him that he really looks at him. He's never seen anyone do a double-take before. 

Father says his name with a question mark. His voice and face are surprisingly calm, all considering, but maybe that's just the shock.

He looks down between them at his swollen red-pink cunt stretched tight around his father's only half-in cock, at his erect clitty pressed tight against an out-standing vein. The sight makes him tighten up inside, and his feet find a place at the small of father's back when he tries to pull out. There's no defending himself from any of this, so he doesn't try. "Please don't stop," he murmurs.

Father looks at him very shrewdly, the way he does when he tries to fib his way out of some mischief. "Has this happened before?"

"Yes..." It's bad, but admitting it makes his pussy feel even hotter. If it was his face, at least he could pretend it was shame.

Father's lips press together and thin. "Am I your baby's father?"

"Yesss..." He involuntarily clenches down. "Did you know?"

"No. But seeing this situation... it's hard not to make the connection."

He starts to cry, a little bit. He can't help it. "It was an accident," he says, nearly sobbing. "But it felt so good I couldn't make you stop. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Father is quiet such a long while it scares him, because surely he's thinking of the worst punishment he can. But what he finally says is, "I'm not going to scare you by telling you we'll both get in trouble, or that you'll be sent away, or anything of the sort, if this is discovered. Your mother would kill me if I wasn't arrested first."

"Father?" He wipes at his eyes with his hands.

Father touches his collarbone, then the space over his heart. His fingers feel cool in comparison. "I don't mind _that_ much--neither of us is to blame, at least for the first time. And you don't want me to stop?"

His face does flush this time, unpleasantly itchy. "No."

"If we do this, I'm going to come in you. I don't pull out," father says, so matter-of-factly he's sure he's heard him wrong. "But we need to be careful."

Well, that sounds like the exact opposite of careful to him, but... father apparently reads his mind, and shakes his head. He starts to move a little, just enough that their genitals are making sucking squidgy noises together. "I love your mother, and I love knocking him up. It just so happens that he also enjoys that. But he has a greater commitment to the children than I do."

He frowns. On the one hand, it explains much of the coldness in their childhood relationship, on the other... it makes him a little jealous. He had spoken to him so warmly when he thought he was mama.

"So, making my son into another little brood mare..." he leans over, placing his hands on either side of his offspring's head, putting his weight into the mattress. "Besides, you're the one who sought me out this time, aren't you?"

"I... I just..."

"But we'll have to be careful. People will take note if our underage son keeps popping out babies, not least of all your mother. They'll pay attention to who you're with, what you're doing." Father fucks into him a little harder, a little faster, still not all the way in. "Tell me about your first fucking."

"You made my pussy come so good, father."

"This pussy?" father whispers, smiling tightly. "This underage cunt you trapped me with?"

Father is pounding into him so hard now the bed is creaking. "Father's fat cock made me come all over it," he says, trying not to squeak. Every thrust rides that vein along his swollen clit, and his pussy juice is like a water-line on his cock. "Oh, I missed it so bad all this time."

"You're finally getting it, aren't you?"

He barely nods before he comes, flooding the space between them every time his cock leaves his slit. His legs reflexively tense and straighten out, toes curling, before falling open to the side.

Father laughs. "Maybe I should have known. Your mother is more of a distance squirter. You just flood it out. God, but your cunt feels just like his."

All he can do is moan incoherently. The waves of his orgasm subside for a moment but father is still fucking him so well, that he can tell it's building back up. Oh his pussy really is trash, loving his father inside it so much. His baby cunt feels so good with a huge cock stretching out his insides.

The feeling reaches a peak, and he comes again. His head goes so fuzzy he can barely see, and after the initial punch in his gut, even his body feels pleasantly tingly and numb. The fuzziness lessens, grows stronger, then back down--he's not sure now if he's still coming or on an exceptionally strong aftershock.

The feeling dies down to a comfortable buzz. Everywhere is sweaty and aches, but even that feels nice. It's like after gym class. His mind and body feel tired but clear.

"You're adorable," father says, pulling out and leaving him feeling disconcertingly empty inside. His cock looks like it has thin froth on a few places; probably from one of their come, or both. "Can't believe my son squirted all over where I fuck his mother." He sounds pleased about it.

"Did you come in me?"

"Didn't I tell you I would?"

That's disappointing, that he wasn't able to notice it this time. But, he consoles himself, father will be coming in him more and more. He lazily strokes himself and realizes with a cleansing feeling of relief that he isn't horny for the first time in what feels like forever.

His life is certainly abnormal. But with father promising to clean up after themselves, and mama still not back yet, he feels quite relaxed as he flops over on his bed. The baby will want to be fed soon, but maybe he can fit in a nap.

They don't actually fuck that often. There's rarely an opportunity to. His hormones are all revved-up again, which sucks, but it does make the chances they can take all the more memorable. Father is always so proud of his pregnant pussy.


	3. hey, what the fuck is this?

Father took him to a hotel for a few days. A father and son trip to spend some time together, especially in this difficult period of his life. It even timed well with mama's schedule, who has been taking time off due to a growing gloominess that made it difficult for him to work.

In reality it was so father can fuck his brains out.

"You owe this to me," father snarls from time to time, pounding roughly into his sopping cunt. "Your mother won't fuck me anymore since you're knocked-up again."

He doesn't really see how it relates. This is the worst it's been that he knows, but mama has always been moody. It shouldn't have anything to do with him, and even if it does, is it really a bad thing if it's getting his pussy filled?

It always needs filling nowadays, too. He's been steadily getting hornier over his pregnancy, and at eight months, he's at a level not to be underestimated. Sure, it means he can really only get boned on his back now, and with his belly in the way he can't even see the action, but it's not bad like this. 

Father comes into him and makes him come until he's soaked the towels father brought with them. Obviously he can't be making a mess on the hotel sheets.

He's glowing from the afterffect of several good screws when they return home. It makes mama seem even duller than before. If only he'd let father fuck him again, he'd be back to normal.

In a sense, he feels like he's taken mama's place. True, he is only on his way to having two, opposed to mama's six babies, but he's the one in bed with father now. And since mama is being so gloomy, he's had to look after his siblings and take care of the house more. A good, pregnant little wife.

He might be able to throw himself into the idea if he liked his father for anything more than sex.

So he has no notions about taking mama's place overall. It is just the one area where they overlap where he feels any rivalry for him. But he doesn't mind compromising.

How can he make mama happy while still getting what he wants?

He doesn't know anything about circularity. But he knows mama, and how sweet he is.

It's funny. During his first pregnancy, he had been so mirred in his own sexual obsession and the feelings he attached to his father that mama had seemed like a bystander, washed-out and nonthreatening. He basically knew that mama had sex, since he and his siblings exist, and knew that he enjoyed it from overhearing. But it wasn't until that second night with his father that some color began to bleed into him.

Mama had sat on father's cock around his children. Mama liked being impregnated. Mama also squirted during sex.

It made him wonder more and more about mama.

He explains his thoughts and plan of action to father, who reluctantly agrees to be gone for the night on some pretense.

It's late, past midnight. It seems like all the worst things happen around this time. But hopefully this will ultimately end as well as the other occasions.

He just wants mama to be happy.

So he comes to his room and climbs into bed with him. His mama who can be so cheerful and pretty when he puts in the effort.

Mama wakes slowly, like he usually does these days, and even then doesn't look all there. "Honey?" Even his voice sounds like it's fading away.

"Mama," he says, in his most sorrowful keen, "something's wrong."

That gets his attention. Like reeling in a fish from the dark. There's visible effort into trying to be present. He sits up a little, onto his elbow. "What's wrong? Is it..." The lowered glance says the rest. The baby.

"No, mama. 'least I don't think so."

"Then where?" Mama's hand holds his, waiting to be led to where it feels bad or sick, and for a moment he is overcome by a wave of disgust for himself. This is the person who sat up with him through so many sick nights and days, who kissed all his boo-boos better, who sprayed his perfume over his pillow so the monsters couldn't get him.

He is awful, awful, as he leads mama's hand down past his baby bump, awful, but this is the only way he knows, awful, the moment he presses mama's hand against his pubic mound, he jerks his hand away.

"Do you have a UTI?" mama asks in a thin, tight voice.

"It doesn't hurt like that. It's all hot and funny." Some of the heat has actually gone out of it in the last few moments, but it probably won't be a problem for long. "It's getting my undies wet."

Mama doesn't speak for a while, but he can tell it's because he's looking for the right words. Can there be good words for a situation like this? Mama speaks haltingly, his eyes skimming over his face for any sign of... something. "What happened to you, might have changed you in some respects. And you're getting to be a young man, in any case. What I think you're feeling is normal by itself. In the morning, we can go to the library, look at some books..."

"I don't _want_ books, mama. Or to wait. Please, help me make it better."

"This isn't appropriate. In the morning--"

Mama is backing away from him, and that's all wrong. It's supposed to be good; why can't he just make things easy? For the both of them? He grabs his hand back. "If you do it, I'll tell who gave me the babies."

That works like he thought it would. Mama goes stock-still, and surely now he'll be more tractable... but to his dismay, mama's face crumples up and he starts to cry and cry with surprising force, like a dam collapsing. All he hears in it is, that's not funny!

He starts to cry as well. He is a child, and seeing his parent cry scares him, though a whisper in the back of his mind says he can use it to pull mama more his way. 

It doesn't really work that way, though. They calm down together and mama eventually says, through his sniffles, "Why can't you just tell me? I feel so useless that I can't protect you."

"I know, but this is how I have to have it. For me."

"I can't. I just... can't."

"For me, mama. To protect me."

They curl up together as close as they can, mama's cheek on top of his head. He mumbles something that sounds like 'forgive me' but this time he follows his hand down. Slowly, slowly, mama hovers over the leg band of his panties before moving in.

Once in he apparently decides the sooner this is over, the better. The touch of his fingers on his clit is quick and on-point. 

And he is already so wracked with nerves that his body is desperate for some kind of release. He welcomes the surging high that crashes through his body and wettens him further--ah, but mama is already taking his hand away, even in the midst of his orgasm.

"Tell me," mama says, the instant he is anywhere near come down. "Tell me who did it. Please, honey."

This kind of only half-in pleasure only makes him feel hotter. He uses it to make him bold. "You have to promise, mama," he says, in a low coaxing voice. "Promise that it won't change anything." He presses back up against him, one leg between his. Mama is too focused looking at him, listening for a name, to notice him scooching down lower and lower.

"I'm sorry, but things can't continue like this. But I'll do everything I can to make the process easier for you." Mama looks so earnest now it hurts his heart. He feels almost guilty when he puts his hand on mama's knees and slowly moves forward, mama's nightie bunching up around his wrists.

"Things can't change, because everything's fine like this. It even felt good, mama, when he was doing it to me." 

Mama grimaces. "A physical reaction is not--no, stop!"

He grabs mama around the waist, follows him up until he bangs against the headboard, and dives in with his face against mama's pink vulva. He has to hold on very tight, but doesn't think there's much danger of being thrown off. Mama pushes and struggles frantically, but he's not bigger enough to have much effect, especially since he won't kick. Not with his feet next to his belly.

Father has done this to him a few times, but he's never had anyone to do it to.

He's dry, the only wetness from his tongue. But no matter how much mama pushes at him, soon he can taste something thicker, more genuine. It tastes meltingly slick and sweetish, and soon it's buttering up mama's puss. He's vaguely aware mama is speaking to him, some hurried chant of don't you can't oh god oh god you can't

but his clit is firm against his tongue, and he's all wet, so he must be enjoying it now. The way he feels is probably that same feeling of delicious dismay he felt the first time he enjoyed father fucking him. It's bad, but it feels good, and it's been a while for mama, right? 

He can feel the influx of liquid when mama comes, but it's not that much. Maybe mama only squirts for getting fucked; he's noticed something similar for himself as he gets more experienced. Just getting rubbed-off doesn't do it so much anymore.

Mama sighs hard and leans into the headboard, like he'd fall through it if he could to get away. His face is probably only a fraction of what it looks like when he's been well-fucked, but it's beautiful. He thinks his mama's flushed cheeks and teary eyes are absolutely beautiful. Suddenly he wants very much to see him getting pounded mercilessly; what would he look like then?

"It was father," he says, releasing one hand so he can touch mama. It even feels all buttery smooth. "Both times."

"No," mama says immediately, and then, uncertainly, "he wouldn't. Did he?"

He doesn't take offense at being doubted. It's not like father did it on his own, after all. "It was an accident, especially the first time. He thought I was you, that's all. And the second, I started it." His thumb rubs against mama's clit as his fingers start sliding in. His own cunt is starting to feel itchy with arousal.

"Does he... know, then?" Mama's mouth trembles, and he has to look away. If he sees mama crying, he'll start crying, and at this point it would be the end of things.

"Sure he does, now." Mama's pussy is so tight, he's a little nervous. Of course his fingers are smaller than father's fingers, certainly smaller than his cock, but he doesn't want to hurt him. "We still do it on occasion. That trip? It's all it was for."

Mama's voice is thick and choked when he speaks. "I'm sorry this has been happening. It's not your fault. I love you. I'm not mad. But it has to stop, and this, what you're doing, is only because of that."

Mama sounds so sad, but his pussy is still so wet and, he thinks, getting wetter. It keeps squeezing down on his fingers. He wishes he had a cock to fuck him with. "It felt good, mama. I finally found out what I heard you screaming about. Father's cock is so thick and hot--well, you know what it's like."

"Please, let's just talk about this--"

"He had me coming all over him, myself, until he knocked me up," mama's cunt is so wet it's dripping a wet spot on the bed "you like being bred, right? Does that turn you on? Your son being impregnated by your husband, his father?"

Oh, here it is, here it _is_ , mama squirting out all over his hand and wrist and wow, his neck! even though he's making some kind of fierce 'nonono' sound and shaking his head. " _Yes_ ," he says, "it does, right? Are you thinking about it? His big adult cock in my tiny baby pussy--"

"No!" mama almost shouts, sounding indignant and sorrowful and so so sexy, "I can't help it, if you keep--keep--ohpleasedont--" he hides his face against his arm while his cunt pushes down on his fingers and plasters his face with squirt.

It's so amazing, so funny, that he can't help laughing. How can he pretend to tell him what's wrong after coming all over his face? "See, this is why things can't change." He's finger-banging him as hard and good as he knows how to do now, and feels him respond in kind, legs opening up, hips tilting forward. "If you told about father, I'd tell about you. And then we'd all be separated, not just from you two, but from each other. Who's going to adopt six kids all together? Or my babies with me?"

"Please stop, please, stop, stop!"

"Tell me it feels good." He doesn't mind looking at mama again, while he's like this. He's beautiful with these tears, just made from the pleasure. All he has to do is accept it.

"It feels good," mama admits, "but that doesn't **mean** any--any--" his voice quivers, then breaks off into a long shakey moan.

Forewarned now, he opens his mouth and lets mama squirt over him. He even catches some of it and the rest, well, he kind of likes being covered in it, he decides. Mama doesn't quite stop moaning, so he figures if he can keep fucking him, even though his hand is starting to cramp, c'mon c'mon, a little more--and screaming, mama squirts a geyser that's almost entirely a rimshot. 

This is as much as he can take. He sits up over mama's sweaty messy body and frantically hooks his fingers into his puffy cunt and fucks himself into a hard orgasm that rocks his entire body, squirt sluicing between his fingers. It splatters all over mama's mound and lower belly.

He gingerly lowers himself onto his side beside mama, one arm around his chest. He feels kind of gross with all the fluids drying on him, but kind of nice too. Nothing at all pops into his head, it's completely empty.

"What am I going to do?" mama whispers.

"That's easy," he says, smiling and nuzzling into mama's side. "It's just like you said. We'll talk it all out."


	4. i cannot believe i wrote this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thirty subscriptions? holy cats you guys

Things get worse.

Father is still living with them, but that's it. Every night he stays out at a hotel and mama won't speak to him. There must have been some kind of confrontation between them the morning after he slept with mama, but he hadn't been involved (seems unfair, as he's the one most involved). All he sees is the aftermath; the silence, and father's fading black eye.

Nor will mama respond when he alludes to it. We have to _talk_ , mama, but mama only presses his lips together and stares ahead. Not even father will speak to him. And his siblings, with no idea of what's going on, start acting out.

The only good thing in all this is that mama is no longer spending most of the day in his room. He still looks like he barely sleeps, but seeing his normally gentle mama stalk around the house simmering with anger is a wonder. He's so much less tractable than he used to be he is at first worried he'd go ahead and say something about father to someone important--because he does think that mama could spin it into sounding like a victim too.

Mama must not think the same. But whatever the reason, guilt or shame or something else, it's all fine for him if it gives him something to use.

He gets an opportunity one night as they are sitting up late, watching a movie. "We can't keep going like this," he says, because that much at least is factually true.

"I know," mama says, still looking right ahead. "But even if you don't want me to do anything, that doesn't mean everything's alright."

"So let's talk. You, me, and father."

"What do you think about..." Mama stops, lips pressing, pressing, until all that's there is a white line. But he can read between the lines for the thing that's been lurking around the atmosphere.

"If you divorce, what'll happen to us?" 

"You'll stay with me, of course."

He doesn't have to fake his disbelief. "How are you going to care for all of us alone? And keep a job?"

"I'll need to get a little help, but--"

"Things are just fine with father staying at home."

Mama turns on him quick as a cat, eyes nearly afire. "How can you want him around after what he's done?"

"It wasn't his fault," he says warily, leaning back against the arm of the couch. He doesn't really think mama will hurt him, but he's never seen him so _mad_.

"Even if it wasn't to start, he should have stopped afterward."

"Like you stopped me?"

Mama makes a face like someone punched him in the gut and collapses back against the couch. 

Nothing more about it is said, but that word, divorce, lingers in his head. A month all told passes, and he has his second--girl or boy, but he's betting it's a boy. He and all his siblings are, in that way.

He has a week at least from school to recover and bond with his new baby. This is probably the best chance he has to do something; father stays in the house during the day, and all his siblings are at least off to kindergarten. His own son, nearly two years old by now, is staying at a family friend's house to make things easier.

This is probably not _the_ most awkward breakfast in the world... but it's gotta be close. Well, time to bite the bullet.

"I want to have sex again," he says, and just like that already cool temperature seems to drop another twenty degrees. He and father are sitting on opposite ends of the table, mama between them, so he can see father's wary, curious look and mama's momentarily wrinkled nose.

"If you're interested in some of your peers," mama says with delicate force, fork stabbing into his omelette, "then we can see about getting you contraceptives."

"I don't want some dumb kid," he replies. "Or contraception."

Mama gives him a sad, long-suffering look that speaks for itself; don't do this. He feels sorry for him, but this is his own choice.

"Don't you know what it's like, mama?" It's not hard to do the math, but as a kid, it hadn't mattered to him. "You were fifteen when you had me, right? And father is twelve years older than you. And whatever age I started, I'm almost fourteen now, so..." He reaches his hand out for mama's, but he pulls back away from him. And into father, coming up behind him.

This feeling... is the joy of cooperation, right?

"Your mama had a hard life," father says smoothly, hand settling on mama's stiff shoulder. "Men used his body from before he was even old enough to be a mama."

Mama looks ready to bolt, so he moves in around the table to help box him into his seat. He's never heard any of this before, and wants to hear it to the end. With mama here, even though his mouth is doing that wobbly thing again. "Is that how you met mama?"

"Well, in a way. He didn't mind it at first because it was all he knew--but when he grew up and realized he was being used, he ran away from home." Father moves in close to mama, nuzzling the side of his head with his cheek. "So this cute ten year old shows up on my doorstep, and even though he knows it's wrong, what happened to him, it's the only way he knows to interact with people."

"I know what you're trying," mama says in a hard little whisper, cringing away from father. "It's not the same."

"It's not," father agrees, sliding in between mama and the back of the chair. "But don't you think it shows I'm not some horrible child rapist? All that time you kept trying to seduce me, didn't I refuse? Until you were fifteen, and by that point, well, you weren't a child, right? And we were in love. Married you the day you turned eighteen."

"I'm so scared."

"You care about your kids," father says, his hand rubbing the inside of mama's trembling thigh. "You don't want them to go through what you did. You're a good mother. But he isn't a victim like you were."

Mama shamefully, almost shyly, looks him in the eye. "Antigone, you have to be so, so sure."

Hearing his name said so seriously makes him straighten up a little. He doesn't know how to look as earnest as he feels, but if he questions it a little himself, that might make it look like he's considering all the sides of it, right? That he isn't being impulsive. "It's fine, even though he's my father?"

Mama shrugs a little, looking away again. Father's hand is creeping up the hem of his nightie, but at least outwardly he isn't noticing it. "Being raped is what bothers me. And having power over you, makes sex between you two more likely to be that." His tone is colorless as he speaks, like someone going into an explanation often given. "Animals commit incest occasionally, even on their own without being made to for breeding purposes. One generation is highly unlikely to cause any harm; it's multiple generations that does it."

His voice stutters a little bit. Father's forearm is completely gone under his nightie, but the movement makes it pretty obvious what's happening. "And... even normal couples can produce children with deleterious traits. I had us tested after we married; we both wanted a big family, but depending, you know, it might have been too much. You and your little brothers looked healthy, but who knew if it was something that occurred in later life? We were both clean, so... I don't think there'll be much problem..." Mama's eyes flutter close, and he finally sees a little of what he's wanted to for this past month. He looks so pretty with his cheeks flushing up.

"You're so pretty, mama," he says, pulling mama's nightie up around his waist. What he sees instantly warms him from his lower belly to his pussy. Father's fingers drenched and nearly buried in mama's puffy pink lips, rubbing back and forth from the clit to the tender thin spot where the sex ends. He starts absently touching himself beneath his own gown. "Let's get pregnant together, okay?"

Father laughs. "My little sister wives. Can you believe our youngest is five now? We definitely have to start catching up. Honey, can you clear off the table?"

He quickly obeys, moving all the plates and silverware over to the counter. He's not sure if any eating will resume, but he doesn't want to bother cleaning at the moment.

Father sits mama on the edge of the table; mama allows himself to be maneuvered onto his back, but father has to pull at his legs to open them up. His fingers press against the wood so hard they turn white and red.

He gets on his tip-toes, barely gets his butt on the edge, and uses his arms to help pull himself up. He wants to hold mama's hand, to comfort him. But mama pulls it away to on his stomach.

The kind of overall feeling he's getting is that mama doesn't want to do this. But what he's feeling is probably difficult and grown-up. Honestly, he can't really comprehend it. Everything about mama's past, and his feelings, all seem like separate things. They must fit together somehow at this moment, but how? He can't understand at all.

He decides not to worry about it, and lays back. 

"We're going to be a big happy family." Father stands between them, smiling, a hand on both of their pubic mounds. "With my two beautiful boys." He touches them a little, more dipping into than actually stroking. But it's been so long for him, it feels like such an awful tease.

"This sounds like the most rotten thing to say about a ten year old," father says, moving over toward him. "But he tried so hard to get me to fuck him. I had to lock my bedroom door or else he'd try things."

He pulls his cock out of his brief shorts, and just the sight of it has his heart pounding. Please, please... but father only taps it against his slit once, twice, the impact each time almost startling him into an allover shiver. "I never did, obviously, while he was that young. But I think about what-if sometimes. Even then, I can't say I wasn't tempted." He looks over at mama, who looks away. "You?"

"I would have hated you, eventually."

"Sure," father says easily, slipping his cock through his furrow, head pressing hard against his little clitty. He tries to raise his hips in hopes of him just slipping in, but after a few attempts father grabs onto his thighs and forces him down. "But it's still something to think about."

He pushes into him slowly, back and forth bit by bit. From here on, he's going to be getting fucked regularly, no hiding... the thought of his future is almost more exciting than this moment. "What happens if you breed me again?"

"Delinquents are sad, but they happen."

He happily squirms as father fills him all up, until his balls are pressed fast against his slit. He's going to be a delinquent, a bad boy who plays around and gets himself knocked-up... it isn't that far from the truth.

And since there's no one here but them, he takes advantage of how loud he can be, moaning along with every thrust, sometimes sweetly heightening into a small scream. Nothing exists but his cunt and father's cock as he's fucked along to father's favorite pace, moderate in speed, but with enough force that he has to keep grabbing his hips back to keep from fucking him up the table.

His entire body seizes up as he explodes all over the thick cock stuffed in him, his pussy pushing down and clenching like it wants it out but father is so big all it can do is uselessly squeeze. He comes and comes in waves rippling down his body, ending in the liquid seeping out over his butt and the table beneath him.

Father keeps still inside him, spreading his warmth. That's not spilling out. It's all safe and deep inside him.

He lays, spent and exhausted, thighs and cunt slimy with come. His clit is throbbing and his insides clenching to be filled. But father is out of him, his cock still hard and ready. He wants to beg him to fuck him again, but it's mama's cock now.

Father goes over to mama's side. His fingers in his cunt make a very wet shlushy sound. "Did that excite you?" he whispers, leaning over.

"No," mama whispers back, face still turned away.

"No?" The sound escalates, a rapid schluck-schluck-schluck. Mama's back arches slightly with each inward breath. "Then why is your cunt so wet it's overflowing my hand?"

Mama does not reply.

"It can't help that it's been so long for us. Over a half-year, that's not good for a married couple." He palms mama's thighs then pushes them apart. "I think it's time I did my husbandly duty and stud you."

He wants to get closer to watch, but somehow getting up doesn't feel like his place. A mare should stay in its pen, after all. And from here he can see well enough, mama's pubic mound, his erect clit poking out from the start of his cleft, and father's cock feeding into it.

Father breathes hard with not quite enough voice in it to make it a moan as he slowly pushes into mama. "I missed this," he says thickly, even though he was _just_ inside his son. "I missed you." He leans closer, nosing mama's hair, ear, then his turned cheek. 

All he can see from here is the curve of that cheek, and the red of it. What expression does father see? Whatever it is doesn't slow him down, or stop him from kissing the delicate hollow of his cheekbone.

Mama's body trembles beneath his. The sloppy sounds of his pussy getting fucked grow louder and louder until he whimpers a strange strangled noise in his throat and--almost vibrates, hips stuttering, as father pulls out in time for him to wetly squirt all over the cock still nestled and rubbing into his slit. The sounds he's making sound frustrated and hurt.

"My poor baby," father murmurs. "Your cunt missed me, didn't? No matter how mad you are with me, this," and back in he goes, mama moaning aloud this time, "needs me, needs to be used, needs to have a baby put it in, god your pussy is so wet for me." The things he's saying sound a little mean, but his voice is warm and teasing, and this time when he kisses mama's cheek, mama kisses him back.

"Why did you have to make things difficult?" mama asks, eyes bright and teary. "I love you, but all of this, I can't."

"This is just going to be an adjustment. You saw how much he loved it. I'm not hurting him any."

They're just fucking, but... somehow he feels uncomfortable. It's the feeling between them, he realizes. The way they hold onto each other, eyes slowly closing and opening between kisses. Is this making love? It's still just sex, but... somehow all of the pleasant emotions he was feeling evaporate. He's not sure what he _does_ feel now, but it makes him feel gunky, whatever it is.

Mama comes again soon, almost as loud as he's ever heard him, sobbing hard near the end. He sniffles afterwards, wet around the eyes but not actively crying. And father whispers in his ear--did you miss me? And mama replies--yes. 

"That's good. Because I'm going to come inside you now."

Mama looks distressed as he gets up on his elbows to look down at his stuffed, glistening wet cunt. "Please, baby, no. I'm not on birth control, you could really knock me up." His voice also sounds distressed, but there's something babyish about it, like playing pretend. Now that he thinks of it, his expression, with the upturned eyes and bitten lower lip, is the same.

It deepens that uncomfortable feeling.

"Bear me another healthy son, okay?" And father pulls in close and still, all bottomed-out, while mama throws his head back and positively wails. He can't really move with father's weight on him, but his hips move in urgent little rocks, like he's trying to fuck himself on the cock ejaculating inside him. 

He can't see mama squirting with the cock in him, but there must be some kind of space for release, because he can sure hear it. A bunch of warbly wet sounds and what sounds like a gallon of water hitting the linoleum floor cup by cup.

Once he's done, father sets him higher up on the table. Mama hoists his legs up, and grabs onto his thighs. Tilting his hips back, he realizes, and looks at his own lowered legs. Well, he caught so easily the last few times, he doubts he really has to worry about it.

Father saunters back over to him, smiling so wide he's practically beaming. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," he says, smiling back. He thinks he is, at least he should be. Things went just how he wanted, after all. He sits up, allows a few lazy caresses, and crawls over to mama.

He strokes his sweaty hairline, and admires his face; just as beautiful and vibrant from a good fuck as he knew it would be. It's just too bad he can't do it himself. And that mama can't dick him either. "You did so well, mama."

Mama averts his eyes, mumbling some sort of apology. He lets it be. Mama will accept him eventually. For now, he's happy enough to curl up beside him, his cheek pressed against his shoulder. They still have all afternoon together.


	5. jk yes i can

Antigone is fourteen years old and the first of his parent's six (going on seven) children, born to a name he has never known on anyone else.

Once in his childhood he asked where it came from, and learned that his feline fancier mama, who never had cats of his own and never will as father is allergic, asked father whether or not he could name their children after cats. Father said he didn't care, as long as he didn't one day have to go calling for an All-gone to come in for supper.

Mama took it as a challenge, and the rest took care of itself, although the two names look more similiar than they are actually pronounced. 

He didn't hear the actual story about the cat and mouse until later, and was unsure how to feel about the part of the fictional kitten he was in spirit named after.

The rest of his brothers followed suit; twins Thomas and Thomasina, Figaro, Gideon, and Felix. Even the baby swelling mama's womb has already been named Dinah.

Things certainly have been busier lately. Not for mama--mama has always gone to work right up until he popped, and did the same while going to school according to memories of his early toddlerhood. But father has gotten part-time work while they're at school, and his own school life has changed.

His peers do not interest him, but he has started to indiscriminately flirt and tease. Not too far; his privates and his babies are for his parents alone, but enough that he has felt opinion of him change. He is no longer a poor little thing, an object of pity, but a slut who has retroactively explained his impregnations, even as young as he's had them. It feels like society itself is cringing away from him.

He doesn't mind very much. The less people are concerned about him, the better.

But Toma cares. Toma cares like only an annoying younger sibling does, in the most constantly questioning way possible. Why do you keep having kids? What's going on with mom and dad? Everyone's talking about you at school.

They are only a year apart, which he seems to take as license to be co-oldest child. 

If it was about any other thing, he'd be easy to ignore, but the hidden subject matter this time makes things difficult. 

Antigone isn't sure why, exactly, he's opposed to the thought. He was younger than Toma for his first fuck, so surely he's old enough to just hear about it. Still...

Toma is younger, almost certainly a virgin, and unimpregnated. He's never been touched, never had a man's cock blow a load in his pussy... and he's pretty, in a more mature way, with father's high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes.

Alright, so even if Antigone finds himself feeling a little insecure, that's just him being silly. He's obviously higher on the totem pole, and father must like baby faces if he married mama.

He considers letting him in the secret some nights, him and his twin together, even, as he lays in the parental bed. Father sleepily touches him, fingers rubbing into his slit, and his mind wanders. Toma is such a loudmouth, but... he imagines him getting his first cock, his first come, his first baby in his belly, and gushes so hard on father he crawls on top to ride.

The tension between his parents hasn't dissipated, only reformed into a more manageable shape. Introducing another sibling won't help, but better than getting anything done in secret, probably. He brings it up some other night, father on one side, mama's warm belly fitting perfectly in the curve of his spine on the other.

The immediate reaction he expects, mama's adamant 'absolutely not!' But mama is so soft, and getting softer all the time; a concentrated team effort is all it takes until he's sobbing into his darling firstborn's hair. Please no more, no more.

Next morning Antigone allows himself to be a little sly--wanna know what I was doing last night? And Toma pounces on it so fast he wonders how much he might have heard of their nightly exploits... and what it might have made him feel.

"You and Tom should come by tonight." And Toma replies haughtily that he shall. 

Compared to his forceful twin, Tom is a nonentity. Quiet, unobtrusive, somewhat plain, and worshipful. The only thing Antigone has ever known him to react strongly to is twin misconceptions: being thought identical because they're same sexed, even when they don't look much alike, or being asked _why_ they aren't identical, particularly nettles him. Antigone is not sure who he takes offense for.

In any case, if Toma comes, Tom will as well. Two birds with one stone, why not.

He whistles happily and goes back to making breakfast. Mama has gone back to sleeping in late on his off days, sometimes until three in the afternoon. Luckily he's pretty used to cooking at this point.

That night he leads them both to bed, hand in hand, Tom usually quiet, Toma unusually so. His stomach is a mess of nerves and excitement. Surely they must have some idea of what's going on. What has been going on. Why else this air of uneasiness?

"My beautiful boys!" father greets them in an affected tone of delighted surprise. "What brings you?"

"The same," he says. He can feel the twins exchange glances. Their sweaty palms tighten on his. 

Mama sits on the far side of the bed, butterfly pose with his hands clenched tightly on his bony ankles, looking dead-eyed and dull. More and more he can't stand to see mama like that, but this will be something bright and new to cheer him up.

At first it doesn't feel very different from any childhood sleep together. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend they're all here for comfort from a bad dream, or a scary storm raging on outside. Everything feels so innocent and familiar, body heat and nightgowns, hair brushing his cheek. He isn't sure how to progress, is in fact almost unwilling to, until Toma clumsily kisses him.

If you knew what to expect, then... anything that happens is fine.

He slips his hand up his hem and finds his lightly furred sex hot and slick. Toma moans into his mouth although all he's doing is pressing down on his mound and outer lips.

Father situates the twins lengthwise across the bed, Tom on his back and Toma on top, thighs outside his younger twin's, pouty pussies pressed wetly together, shining with slime in the dim light. Father kneels between their legs.

Antigone curls up close to see, his cheek resting against a foot. He rubs his palm over his sex in anticipation. Just enough to stirr the flames, not get off. His view from here is as good as possible, father's balls hanging between his legs, and his little brothers' assets. 

Then father leans in closer, hand momentarily in view as it directs his erection, and sandwiches his cock in between their tiny pink slits. It must feel heavenly to be encased in two sets of hot plush flesh, and to hear the immediate moans. He can just imagine--the first touch of another sliding over their clits, and not just anyone, but their own father's cock. Is there any of the erotic reservation he felt for his first time? He hopes so. Those first few times were the best for him, before the taboo wore down a little from exposure. It'd be too bad for them to not experience it.

Each pass of father's cock pulls more whimpers like notes being pulled from a harp--those sweet, half-throated sounds. Wetness glistens along the shaft before very long, and on Tom's thighs--unfortunately he can't see the upper set very well with father in the way, but Toma is easily the noisier of the two. It's just as well, since he imagines this position feels better for Tom, since being on bottom gives him less wriggle room, less of an out. All he can do is lie down and feel himself being spread open.

He starts touching himself and is regrettably aroused further by how creamy he feels. Every little touch sends a tingling zap up his entire body that says he could immediately come with a few touches; even just touching on the smaller lips does it, and that area typically does little for him. Extraordinary circumstances, extraordinary arousal. He wouldn't mind but a self-given orgasm is so unsatisfactory compared to getting fucked, and he wants to save the heat he feels for that.

He idly spreads his legs open to feel the cool air when father pulls out. The sight of his enormous veiny cock juxtaposed with their baby cunts, the two still connected with mixed pre-come ( _did_ neither of them really come? he wouldn't have been able to stand it) goes straight into his gut, filling him with such a need to be filled he actually feels himself lubricating, like a fresh wave of wetness on top everything else.

"'m gonna fuck you now," father says, in a funny breathless voice he's never heard before.

A few mumbled noises of assent, then Toma, louder, "But you can't come inside, okay?"

"Sure," father replies, in a flippant tone he doesn't at all believe

(who does he think he is, trying to get out of it?)

and doesn't really care. If Toma thinks he doesn't want to get spunked in, that's just because he hasn't been spunked in yet.

Father goes for Tom first, slow and steady in time with his barely voiced moans. It's fascinating to see the process on someone else as small as him, the way his pussy stretches out to accomodate getting fucked. If it hurts at all, he handles it well.

He scoots back a little from the action to find mama's lap. They should be celebrating together, after all. Mama only makes a small attempt to push him away, before giving in. Mama is so soaked when he slips his fingers into him, his teary eyes must be just for show. He's getting off on this, from seeing his twin babies getting wet all over their father's cock.

"Isn't it amazing, mama?"

It's just for himself. He doesn't expect much from mama verbally at times like this. His body has all the truth he wants, anyway.

Tom comes, he thinks, in the tension-filled pause in his gasps. Quiet to the end. There's a whooshy exhale when he starts breathing again, followed by more of those tiny sounds. Father comes shortly after; that's easy to tell, since he always holds himself still and as deep inside as possible. From here, he can see his balls pulse as they empty their first load.

Father withdraws slowly, cock covered in come and a few spots of virgin blood. Tom's pussy is still quivering, and there's a restless tightening of his thigh muscles that says he's probably still all hot--it occurs to him that father is going to have his hands full keeping them all satisfied.

Father takes his still-erect cock and just as carefully to start presses himself into his other son. Only halfway in and Toma comes, judging by the change from moaning to muffled screaming. Even his panting afterward is louder than any sound his twin made.

Antigone uses his father's steady thrusts first as meter for his finger-fucking mama's pussy to ready it. He uses all the sweet sounds coming from Toma's throat once his insides start to flutter; every quick take of breath, every drawn-out groan, every sigh, as if mama was being fucked right along side him. His fingers are a poor substitute for father's cock, but he thinks the point is getting across. Mama's breathing quickens.

Toma screams again, his juices visibly overflowing now. Antigone wonders if Tom can feel his brother's come dripping down onto him, and if so, what it feels like. A steady minute thumping, like little drops of rain, or an indistinct flooding sensation?

The pace grows more urgent. Father is probably working his way up to come. Toma must sense the same, as he can be heard reminding him to pull out, in a voice so warm and wavering there's no need to acknowledge it at all.

So father doesn't and keeps fucking him into his brother until the mattress creaks, until the room is filled with sloppy wet sounds. Toma repeats his request, but there's no need to take it seriously. Not when he sounds like he's enjoying his first fuck so much.

Mama starts pushing on Antigone's shoulder, but he must be close too. His pussy is squeezing so much.

Please please please, Toma begs; to pull out, he must mean, but anyone would think he means 'come in me'. If Antigone thinks at all that the distress is genuine, it is momentary, and excused anyway with the thought that he just doesn't know how good it feels to get filled up.

Then father hunches into him with the same stillness as before. Toma wails, his legs kick, and then--a half-dozen sprinkles of wet squirt out of his cunt. Mama comes in the same instant, all over his hand, moaning in the back of his throat. It must run in the family, this reluctant pleasure. 

("Wasn't that good, mama? Seeing him getting it?" Mama pulls away again, and he lets him go.)

He hears Toma crying and sees his trembling back as father moves aside and off the bed. Tom has his arms around him and soothingly strokes his hair.

Father returns to the bed with a few pills. "Contraception."

Toma sniffles and sits up. "I told you not to." 

"You'll probably be fine with this." He looks side-ways to Antigone. "It's not feasible to have you all knocked-up all the time... financially, if nothing else. One delinquent is enough for now. But," he adds brightly, sitting down besides mama, "if you ever get married and need a donor, you know who to see."

He kisses the top of his head and his wet cheeks. "Of course, if you do end up having an accident, I'll still be happy."

Toma shakes his head. "I don't wanna... I don't..."

"That's pretty much the plan, hon. Your big brother is getting all that."

Antigone feels a warm glow of pride in his chest. He's the only son allowed the priviledge of being bred. He takes a special fondness of his baby bump as father fucks him next; none of them will know what it's like to carry for years. They won't know what it's like to be bred with intent. He almost feels (relieved?) sorry for them, that they'll miss out on so much during their cutest years. 

Everyone settles together in bed, kids on one side, father and mama on the other. It's so slow and lovey-dovey, it makes him sick to look at. But the sound alone, the soft movements, the whispers, are soothing. Toma's still-moist face is pressed against his collarbone, and Tom is latched onto his back. The two of them, clinging to him, just like when they entered.

An hour later he's drifting off to sleep as his parents finish their marital duties. He feels his hair stroked away from his forehead, and a kiss by the corner of his eye. Light body sweat fills his nose, and mama's body wash. He blearily opens his eyes. Mama kisses Tom and Toma the same, then catches his gaze with a sad smile.

"Sweet dreams, darling." He leans over to kiss him again, and this time he turns to find his mouth. Mama's sweet, juicy mouth. He pauses a moment and Antigone touches almost timidly his tongue to his lip, like touching an altar. As many things as they've done, they've never kissed.

Mama gently parts in refusal, and kisses him again, almost pointedly, on his forehead.


	6. what a mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! ya'll are super and i love you

"You love me, don't you?"

"This is getting out of hand."

"There's no going back at this point. We can still be a big happy family."

"But..."

"Just like you wanted."

It's certainly coming along. From the outside their house (a two-story deal with baby blue siding) looks not unlike the typical idea of a house made for a growing family. One made for a doting husband, gentle mother, and four kids (two boys and two girls, of course). The inside wasn't so different from that ideal, originally. 

Things have changed. Mostly for the better, he thinks. Their family is closer than it used to be, with the potential to grow more and more. He hadn't really understood before why his parents had such a large litter, why they wouldn't be more careful... but if it's related to sex, he understands. It's exciting to get creampied, risking pregnancy, either for himself or others. Toma rarely allows himself to get fucked on father's cock anymore, but every time he does, even the sight of the pill he takes afterward is somehow thrilling. There will probably be a time when it won't work.

He himself has carried two of father's babies, and is six months of the way to a third. That's exciting too, to know he's bearing incestuous fruit. If he had a cock, he wouldn't mind giving one to mama, or one of his siblings, but the situation as is isn't bad either. 

What is it about getting impregnated by one's own father, for him to be the first fuck for half of his sons thus far... and more, if he has his way. It's a powerful image. A primal one. Like an animal, the king of some roost, who's primary concern is being a stud. 

A night or two he has quickly rubbed himself off to thoughts of his father impregnating his own sons when they're old enough, of being impregnated by his own firstborn, or his firstborn impregnating his siblings or his children later in life. It's a dangerous line of thought even for him. It suggests that the incest will continue beyond them. For the generations his mama had spoken of. And even if it causes problems, he sometimes thinks he wants that too... as proof.

But for now... for now, his third little brother has turned eleven. What a nostalgic age. He knows how he wants it done, too. Not an involved spectacle, but private. Like his first had been. 

Father seems amused by the plan. Mama can stay if he'll be quiet (but mama decides instead to sleep on the couch, which he allows because mama had been gone for his first too). And the twins he has threatened away for the night with all the seriousness he can muster.

That night it's just him, Figaro, and father in bed. He'd lured his little brother in easily; Figaro is naturally clingy, and jumped at the chance to cuddle. Of all them, he'd taken the longest to adjust from his bedside crib to his own bed and room. He also cried the most when his older siblings started school, and had been inconsolable his first month of kindergarten. The huge earlier coldness between their parents made him listless and irritable.

He's wrapped up tight between the two of them. His sleeping face looks so sweet and innocent. It's hard for Antigone to think he'd ever been so small. How much has he grown since then?

He etches every facet of his brother's face into his mind before closing his eyes. What happens next is, on the face of things, just for them. For Figaro.

Each of his senses seem to stretch out into perpetuity. His body, warm with anticipation. The smell of soap and freshly laundered blankets. His brother's soft breathing. Faint mint still in his mouth. Even the deep blackness behind his eyelids, like this was a normal night, waiting for sleep to come. In this moment it all lasts forever.

The first irregularity actually startles him. A muscle in the back of his leg twitches. He hears rustling, gliding, the whispery sound of skin on skin. Moments pass. Figaro's breathing pauses, and deepens. Cute sleepy sounds.

The whispery sound continues until it's subsumed by what sounds like water running over a pebble. The breathing noises layer over it, stuttering, then--

"Papa?" Bleary and half-asleep. Antigone admires his courage, though--or is he more innocent than he had been? He hadn't dared to say anything then. "What're you doin'?"

"See?" Father's voice, low and warm, and the blankets are turned over, wafting over more of that laundry scent. There's something still subtle beneath it, beneath even the neutral milk and crackers smell of clean skin, something hot. "See?"

The wet sound grows louder, rougher. He feels Figaro squirm, the pull and release of his body on the bottomsheet. "Isn't it... bad?"

"But you feel good, don't you?

"Mhmm..." The bed creaks, his back probably arching. "But, papa, you ca-can't--"

"Shhh."

He imagines father's fingers, rubbing into his little brother's virgin slit... how sweet and wet it must look, how delicate, unspoiled, between his soft thighs. He wants badly to see, but can't risk Figaro knowing he's awake. Doesn't even dare to touch himself, even if he can with his belly in the way, although the sudden moisture is making him hyper aware of his panties' cotton sticking to him. 

And Figaro isn't helping with his adorably disbelieving noises--papa, you can't, if mama comes, if he wakes up, oh but but but oh papa, papa, papa--or with the long-drawn out throat-moans. The wet sounds grow even louder and the smell of sex, the act and the part, grows stronger.

"You look so cute when you come. Was that your first time?"

Figaro whispers almost inaudibly, that that was his first time feeling that.

"It's nice, isn't it? Do you like me touching your pussy?" Father isn't whispering, but his voice is still quite low. Husky.

The rubbing sounds grow more energetic, all slip-sloppy. Figaro moans and shifts. A knee brushes his leg. He's spreading. Spreading for father. "Papa, my... it feels amazing, all tingly..."

"Tell me papa is gonna make your pussy come again."

"Papa is, papa's gonna, gonna make my, come, my--" his knee jitters violently, vibrating skin tantalizing the inside of Antigone's thigh up to his sex, and a long hearty moan is muffled against something "my puss _syyyy_!"

A familiar sound accompanies the exclamation. A repeated wet warbly outpouring. The sound goes straight into his lower belly, fanning the flames. 

Father groans, and must be moving around. The mattress shifts up and down. "Papa will make you feel even better, alright?" Arousal makes his voice almost appealingly scratchy. 

"Papa?"

A few quiet moments. Then, "Oh, papa, don't--" and a slippery sliding sound.

"I'll make your virgin cunt feel so good." The bed squeaks a little. He's probably rutting against Figaro's clitty. "Papa is all the man you need."

"No sex, papa," Figaro says, but his voice is high and fraught with pleasure. It breaks with each bounce of his body. "Please don't, we can't, that's too much."

Antigone wonders how true the plea is. Surely his clingy little brother really wants to get fucked, and is only too shy to say so. He came, after all, and 'we can't' sounds to him like a societal objection, not a personal one. We can't because it's incest, because normal people would be disgusted by us, because one of us is a minor. It's not 'I don't want to'.

The springs stop jangling. All sound at all, in fact, seems to ease for an instant. Then the breathing comes in, both deep and hard, Figaro nearly moaning again into something. 

"See how easy it's going in? Your cunt wants your papa's cock in it. God, baby, you feel amazing."

Figaro sucks in a breath and gives a long, shuddering sigh. "You're so big, papa. Oh... I can't believe it feels like this."

"Take my cock, baby. Take my cock while I fuck you."

He can't help taking a quick peek, to see how well Figaro is taking it through the barest crack of his eyelid. The shadow of his eyelashes obscures some of it off the top, but he sees what matters. His little brother's soft belly and spread thighs, and glistening cherry-red pussy stuffed full of father's cock.

His eyes squeeze shut right after. Warmth floods his face. Figaro looks as good as he knew he would.

The smell of sex and sweat is overpoweringly strong. It makes his saliva thicken in his mouth. The scraps of mumbled dirty talk. The sounds of suction from their fucking, the creaking of the mattress, all of it an appealing blind tableau. The image in his head of his little brother's tiny body is driving him crazy. If only he'd been brave back then. If only he'd accepted what was going on and acted. He could have had so much more when he was that little. All he'd had was that one one-sided act; by the time he'd dared anything else, he was fully entered into his pubescence.

But with his eyes closed like this, and by concentrating on his body combined with the array of sounds and sensations, he can pretend a variety of things, on the immature body he once had. Even Figaro's eventual orgasm transfers (and so loud it is, there's no real use in muffling, with a sharp erotic edge of reluctance, of knowing he shouldn't be loud, he could wake everyone up and _then_ what, but unable to control even his own throat) and he comes hard and pulsing without a single touch. His thighs are wet afterward, but he's not sure the spreading seeping beneath him is all his fault.

The fucking continues louder, harder, bouncing off the bed, Figaro mumbling a chant of 'papa papa papa' all the while, like it's the only thing that concerns him now. And when all the motion abruptly stops, he knows it's because father is coming. Does Figaro know what that is? What could happen? All he hears is his voice, softening into just sighs.

And now, in the gradual silence, what arousal he had been left feeling crumbles away. Something feels... wrong. 

He waits, trying not to shiver (laying in his own mess is only sexy when it's been fucked out of him) as father fetches a glass of water, and a pill from the now well-stocked supply in the bedside table. "I'm not sure if you're able yet," he says, "but better safe than sorry."

"Oh." Figaro sounds like he might be surprised, if he wasn't so worn-out. "I could get pregnant."

"It didn't cross your mind until now?" Father laughs, but it's irritating, actually, how stupid someone can be. Also, not having the possibility in mind means Figaro hadn't gotten everything he could of out of the experience. 

The two of them fall asleep pretty quickly. Ten minutes, ten minutes he waits and stares at the darkness inside his eyelids. His insides are roiling. He's not sure why. There's no reason for it. Maybe he was jealous somewhere, and only realized it when being horny wasn't a priority. It feels only part-right. It was shortly after he came he started feeling gross, but this doesn't feel like jealousy.

But he's not sure what it _is_.

Once he's sure they're well and truly out, he slips out of the bed and down the hall. The TV fills the living room with shadows and cool white light. Cartoons are on. The nostalgia hurts; he knows this episode. It seems like forever since he's last sat down to watch anything. 

Mama is where he said he would be, swaddled in blankets on the couch. He must not have been sleeping either, because he looks up when Antigone approaches.

"I don't feel good, mama."

Mama guides him down into the blanket nest. They'd slept like this several times when he was little, staying up late on weekends. It's harder now that he's bigger, and both fairly pregnant. 

He squirms to get comfortable between mama and the back of the couch, where he most likes to be. This enfolded, squished feeling is the best way to sleep. Mama strokes his hair and cheek, silent, expression null. His fingers feel harder than they used to, his palm thinner. He wonders if mama has been losing weight. That's no good. Dinah won't be a healthy baby if he doesn't put on.

"Mama... do you feel bad, too?"

Mama's lips part slightly, and for a second he looks on the verge of saying something. The moment passes, and Antigone can't press on it when he's not sure he actually wants to know.

For the rest of the night his mind is too jumbled to sleep much at all. Sometimes he drifts in and out, but even that is layered with a confused racing of thoughts. The vague indistinct idea of rape, mama's largely unknown history, incest, personal responsibility. Has mama felt all this time what he is feeling now?


	7. hello i'd like to report a travesty against man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys... how is all this freaking snow treating you? I've fallen twice in three days, sprained a knee and hip, and my glasses fell off my face and landed in dog poop when I slowly, painfully bent to pick it up. I don't mind snow usually but tbh I am over it right now come on spring

The exhaustion is setting in bone-deep, all the way into his swollen feet. His feet that he hasn't been able to look at for some few months.

That strange bad feeling he went to bed with that night comes and goes. Mostly he's too busy to really think about it. He's so due he feels like he's about to pop, and he has to worry over his still-underweight mama on top of it. Not to mention the little incident a few weeks back. Despite all the precautions, Toma's little belly has started to round. The news has spread a strange wave of anxiety, frustration, and excitement through the house.

Well, all anger with Toma. You never saw such a cute thing pitch such a fit. Antigone's concern is mostly pragmatic; they're going to baby themselves out of food and home. On top of the already existing six children (one still little more than a toddler), Antigone's toddler and infant, two more infants on the way, and now a third... it's mere arithmatic, but the most controversial adding he's ever done. It's worrying, exciting, by day he's going through the entirety of the pantry just to keep them all fed, by night he's fantasizing about their housefull of brood mares and it makes his pussy wet and needy to get fucked in an instant.

Getting fucked in another thing, too. With five of them now jockeying for father's cock, it's hard to get a decent screw in. That's probably the reality of being in a harem-type situation, but his desperation has led to thoughts that unnerve even him. Once his son is grown, he can help... that'll be a long time from now, as he's only three, but sometimes he washes him in the bath and wonders despite himself. It's so small. Would it still feel good? Would his son like it?

Best not think about it, he decides, and content himself with father. 

The parental bed is more like a communal one at this point, and Antigone figures there's no way at least the eight year old has no idea what's going on, though nothing has been done to him yet. There's too much noise, too much openness. The whole house reeks of sex. Even after just getting fucked, seeing his mama get it, or his little brothers, gets him all bothered again.

His days feel like a constant simmer of barely controlled heat. It reminds him of the few years he spent after father accidentally impregnated him. He blames the repeat of his first birthing experience on it.

On the night he does finally pop, he's in the happy position of being last in line for sex. By this point father is so worn out that he lasts much longer than normal, so all he has to do is keep his legs spread and enjoy. Once, twice, he comes, moaning and cooing, but they do little more than take the edge off.

He's on a growing wave though, one that promises to be truly satisfying, when his water breaks.

Father pauses for just a second, looking blankly surprised, and he's already trying to nudge him with his heels on his butt. "Don't stop, don't you _dare_ stop--"

Father quickly gets the idea and gets back to pounding him. He feels someone's hand anxiously squeeze his shoulder. Yes, okay, he'll go to the hospital, just let him have this please. He's so close. The contractions he thinks he's having meld beautifully into the way his cunt tightens and releases.

He's coming, squirting, going into labor all at once. Distantly he's aware that he's soaking himself and the bed through, like he's sitting his ass in a puddle but he can't stop. The fuzzier he gets, the more he's not sure what his body is doing--is he still coming? is he getting his wires crossed with his labor?

Father pulls out of him, and he actually doesn't care at the moment. An immense feeling of pressure bears down inside him, way back where he can nearly feel his cervix opening up. It's like getting fucked in reverse. The heavy feeling grows bigger and fills up his cunt and god, it's so big, it's stretching him out so good he can't help mewling and rolling his hips. He must look awful, a real disgrace, the way he's acting, but at least the pushing helps it move along.

In what feels like only a few minutes, his baby's head is breaching. The brief sharp pain makes him feel inexpressibly exhausted for a moment, and the clarity the pain gives him makes him aware of his surroundings. He sees Toma's little moue on the sideline, but that's small beans compared to father's cock, which he only notices now is wet, soft, did he come in him? Where his baby is going through? It gets him gooey enough inside to manage one final orgasm, one last push, and the baby is out. 

Father catches it, shows it to him, along with the webbing of come crowning it's head. 

He lays back, proud and exhausted on all counts. Mama leaves to help tend to the newborn. Figaro sweetly kisses his face all over as Tom fetches a sponge and pail. His siblings help to wash him of all the sweat and muck, change sheets, and put him to bed. The treatment adds to the buzzy good feelings he has. He is fertile, sexy, a queen bee in training.

Guilt, and the awareness that he shouldn't have done any of that, settle back in at night. But they are all so involved with each other now that he's finding it easier to distract himself when his head gets too busy with second-guessing himself. All he has to do is reach a hand out for someone, anyone, to find a willing slit.

It's changing his behavior at school, too. Still no cock in his pussy, but he lets boys feel him up, and even gives a few blowjobs. He sits at his desk with his skirt gathered up and knees open, so his creative writing teacher can sneak peeks. Men in general (and real adult men, not his schoolaged playmates) are noticing him more, either by reputation, or the sexy aura growing on him. 

He doesn't mind that, either, though he's yet to work himself up into trying anything. If they went too far, he wouldn't be able to push them off like a boy. 

Discussion at home turns to his next youngest brother, Gideon, who has just turned nine years old. Mama protests and Antigone is of half a mind to do the same--he's not even old enough to breed. But father's mind is that it's good training for the future, and will keep them more tight-knit a family.

You never cared about that kind of thing before, he thinks, remembering all the cold dismissals of his childhood. There's no monster, go to bed. Good grades are to be expected, not praised. Scrapes need cleaning, not kisses. Father had been their stay-at-home parent, but he treated them like adults to be kept at a distance, not his own children. So he realizes that the only thing going on here is that father wants to fuck his youngest just to have them.

So what to do about it? Not much. Mama has no energy to keep up a prolonged resistance, and Antigone himself is more disappointed by his father's transparent motives than what he wants to do.

The _least_ he can do, he figures, is prepare his brother for sex. There's even a subversive element to it he enjoys. Like he's stealing a cookie before dinner.

He joins him for his bath to wash his hair and back, and the tender little slit between his legs. It's so small he can't imagine how father will fit himself in it, but the idea kind of gets him hot. 

Gideon at first seems unaffected by the touching, then wriggles a little from side to side before giggling and finally giving in. "That feels funny," he says, looking back at him. He's smiling, one cheek dimpled. 

"You don't like it?" Antigone asks, and suddenly he wants badly to sit him on the edge of the tub and eat him out. One thing at a time.

Gideon hmms thoughtfully, considering the plastic ducky in his hands. "I dunno. What is it?"

"This is part of sex," he says, kissing the wet curls stuck to his temple. "It's very grown-up. Most the rest of us are doing it, so it's your turn too. Because we're a family."

Gideon's breathing is growing heavier, and he thinks he can feel him getting wet, but it's hard to tell in the bathwater. "Father has been getting me pregnant like he gets mama pregnant, like he got Toma pregnant. We're all going to be happy together."

The slickness in his slit comes and goes, but he can feel it pulsing, the clit protruding to be touched. "It feels nice, doesn't it? You don't have to feel bad."

"It burns," Gideon mumbles.

Antigone kisses his head again. "Poor baby. Get up so I can look at you."

He helps him off the slippery tile and onto the tub ledge, then coaxes his thighs apart. His pussy is adorable, naturally poochy with baby fat and red with arousal, slightly parted for the clitty to show. He rubs his thumb into the erect baby button. Gideon whines.

"It burns. It's so hot."

"Big brother will make it better, okay?" And he is wet, _so_ wet, that he leaves his barely-scented juices all over his fingers. And soft, like a cloud beneath his fingertips. He carefully squeezes a little up into his entrance where he meets a tiny pinprick of a hole surrounded by a resistant membrane. His little brother's hymen, he realizes, waiting to be taken. "And once you're all ready, you can practice making babies with father."

He keeps rubbing him off, traveling nearly the entire part of his slit in just the span of his thumb. Gideon comes quickly, nice and loud, soft round arms around his neck. He drip-drip-drips all over his hand.

Antigone pulls his face into the crook of his neck and makes soothing noises while his fingers keep working. Gideon starts to cry a little at the end of his wailing, poor tired fussy thing, but he needs him ready again.

Antigone builds him back up to the edge before standing up. The tepid bathwater quickly goes cold on his legs. Gideon is small enough to be picked up pretty easily, and too gooey to resist. 

He leaves the bathroom, both naked as jaybirds, past the living room and a curious turning of several little heads, into the master bedroom. It's late in the day, and as he knew would likely be the case, father is in bed reading.

"Where's mama?" he asks, ignoring for the moment the way father eyes the prize in his arms.

"Occupying himself with the babies," father answers absently, setting the book aside and sitting up.

Antigone pauses a moment beside the bed, pretending to think, hugging his brother closer when he tries to pull off. His moist pubic mound rubs distractingly against his belly. "Well, without mama here..."

"You know it just upsets him," father says reasonably, reaching out, and Antigone allows him to take his hand and lead him onto the mattress. But his eyes are vulpine, irises like hungry absinthe. "What do you have there?"

Antigone reluctantly lets his brother down but then it's done, no take-backs. He sits between them with a dazed uncomprehending expression, and his legs lay innocently, still, open. 

Of course the first thing father notices is his soppy red slit. "Has he been touching himself?"

"Just me," Antigone replies sweetly. Father is visibly irritated for a moment, then shrugs it off.

"Well, he'd obviously need some work to get him ready, but I wouldn't have minded tending to him myself."

Antigone does not answer, but smiles a little to himself. 

Gideon looks doubtfully between the two of them. "Are we gonna practice making babies now?"

"All the babies," father says, sitting at his son's feet, kneading his chubby thighs. "Did your bad big brother make you come already? And then leave you hanging?" His hands look too grown-up, kind of gross, on the fresh smooth skin.

"It feels really funny..." Gideon relaxes back on the pillows as his thighs are massaged up the insides. Father gets so close to his vulva that the lips continually pull apart, revealing the gleaming inner flesh. "But it's not bad."

"You'll feel even better, I promise." Father pulls his rapidly stiffening dick out of his briefs. "But there will likely be a little pain first."

"Because you're so small," Antigone explains, patting his brother's mound. "And he's so big. But I'll be here."

His little brother looks at once nervous, like he finally understands what's going to happen. His frowning mouth needs a kiss, so Antigone does, and sets himself on the pillows where he can keep his head in his lap and help hold his knees back for him.

The position opens his slit even more. He can see it quivering, and wonders what exact cocktail of emotions is making it do so. How much fear per desire? Not too much, as Gideon doesn't try to get away, unless he's literally scared stiff, but... even if it was the case, all he needs is experience.

Father's cock is fully erect when he presses it more against than into Gideon. It's monstrous in comparison, this fat veined thing compared to that neat slit. He pushes in slow, very slow, exhaling between gritted teeth, until the glans finally pops in with the corona "--you're so small, baby, so small--" and Gideon begins to fuss again. _It burns._

"Shh, baby. I just have your maidenhood, that's all--" Antigone thinks for one alarmed second that he's going to actually take his cock out and show the blood undoubtedly there, as the sight of blood from his own privates would upset any kid, but thankfully he just keeps pushing in bit by bit. "I can't believe how good a maiden cunt this young feels, so _fucking_ tight--"

It looks good, Antigone admits, his own poor ignored pussy all alight with fire at the sight. Father's cock is so big Gideon's sex is stretched tight and thin around it and it's only a quarter in. "Can you even feel if it's wet, that tight?"

Father laughs breathlessly, with slanted grin that looks so handsome on him he can see what mama found attractive about him. "Putting my cock in him is like fucking a luxury onahole. The tightness would diffuse the sensation but goddamn if he doesn't keep milking me."

"Oh?" Antigone peers curiously into his baby brother's face, at the clenched eyes and pink cheeks. "Does it still feel like a bad burn? Or is it more like when we were in the bath?"

"It burns," Gideon stubbornly repeats, but his mouth wobbles a little, and so do his hips as father finally reaches halfway in.

And as more and more cock gets fed into him, the slimier his spread-open cunt gets until juice is dripping off his clitty onto his belly. His breathing deepens and he reddens from forehead to chest. But at three-quarters stuffed full of cock, he goes quiet and stiff so suddenly he almost yanks his legs free.

Father goes still too, and looks, sounds, disbelieving and hungry in equal measure. "He's coming," he says, breathing hard but evenly, smiling wolfishly, "his virgin cunt is coming all over my cock, and it's gonna make me come."

Antigone sucks and bites on his lower lip. His own juice he can feel overflowing and gathering beneath him. "Little tease."

"Little tease," father agrees, "little slut," and groans long and low, coming into the pussy he hasn't even fully penetrated yet. Gideon's voice returns to him as his body softens, and he's sobbing, but it's a good sound, the start of someone getting fucked silly. Father murmurs adoring invectives as he kisses the tears off his face.

"I'm going to fuck you," he says, taking his cock out enough to relieve the internal seal. Semen and thin squirt dribble out. "Little sluts who make their own fathers come in them don't need to take it slow." 

He grips Gideon hard by his thighs and pulls out entirely, only a faint pinkness left now around the glans of his cock, before shoving back in. Poor little Gideon screams and tries to kick. But father keeps rocking steadily into his baby pussy and soon he's rocking his hips up to meet him, and the next time he screams his fingers are digging into his father's wrists. Father fucks him harder into the bed until the sound of their mating changes into a frothy juicy sound; the sound of a creaming pussy getting fucked.

His own hands now unneeded, Antigone finger-fucks himself. Gideon is making so much noise he thinks he's been just coming continually, or something like it. "Come in his baby-womb," he urges, "come in his baby-womb."

"I'm gonna," father starts gruffly, between pants, "come in his useless pussy I can't even breed yet, god that turns me on, just a slut good for coming on his daddy's cock, his fucking _worthless_ cunt--" he goes abruptly quiet for a second as he bears down, filling up his son's slit with the entirety of his cock and growls as he comes. Antigone follows shortly after, squirting all over his fingers, not exactly quiet himself.

Warmth fills his entire body and fades. He looks down at his adorable little brother, who looks bushed beyond belief. Small wonder. His eyes are half-open but he doubts he's really looking at him. 

Somehow they end up all three side-by-side. Gideon zonks off immediately, and Antigone puts forth the effort to sponge him off a bit as he sleeps. His sex looks so tender he feels bad about touching it, but it's such a mess. Come, sweat, and a little blood washes off, probably more from the rough sex than his virginity.

Father dozes on Gideon's other side, stirring from time to time to confidentially squeeze his eyes at him. "I'd be disappointed about him reaching puberty someday soon," he says the last time, before going to sleep himself, "if I didn't have others to look forward to."

Antigone doesn't think about it very much. It's a given, as far as he's concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys up for a music rec? I've been listening to A Static Lullaby (post-hardcore, if that's your thing) and am particularly fond of the Rattlesnake! album (SO WHERE'S MY RE-TRI-BU-TION BAY-BAYYY?) it's so good


	8. and god

Antigone wakes warm and cozy in the sunlight streaming in. It even sounds cozy; there's a bustle down the hall, a baby crying, children laughing. He hears mama talking. It must be breakfast time.

He stretches. Opens his eyes. Gideon is gone. There's just father, reading, a tablet on his lap. "Gideon okay?"

Father side-eyes him a moment, before putting his book down. "A little sore. Didn't stop him from running off."

"That's good..." He feels like he should say something about last night. Father is looking expectantly at him, like he expects it too. But he can't think of anything to directly say. All he has is a question. "If you liked that, how come you didn't do it to mama when he was little?"

"I was younger then," father says, "and willing to settle. It _is_ dangerous what we're doing, you know." He pauses a moment, smiling, allowing Antigone a moment to uncomfortably bounce that 'we' inside himself. "Besides, I do love him, as a husband. Of course I was willing to wait a little."

He taps the tablet on his lap. "And while it in itself was a risk, I found something that made it easier to wait." He fiddles with it a moment and leans over to Antigone, holding it between them. "This will be our secret. I've never told him about it; he didn't need to know. You know how delicate he is."

"Yes," Antigone agrees dubiously, since it's expected.

Father shows him a video, the subject of which is a small boy who looks startlingly like Antigone's baby videos. For reasons he knows now, he has never seen pictures of his mama in his childhood, but he knows who this is. 

He knows what he's seeing is wrong... this little boy, maybe seven, sucking cock and taking it, the same way he knows everything about his home life is wrong. But it's different. He and his little brothers enjoy themselves. It's alright. This little boy looks miserable. But he knows without touching that he's getting wet.

They watch it from start to end, about a half hour, in complete silence except for the fuzzy sound coming from the speakers. He wonders how many times father has watched this, before and after marrying mama.

Afterwards father feels between his legs, finds him sopping, and mock-teases him for being so bad. We aren't that different, he says, and it might be true because when he fucks him, all he can think of is his mama's tiny pink slit with come dribbling out of it.

He goes to find mama afterwards, now that he's thinking of him. Semen drips down his thigh. Mama. His head feels so full.

He finds mama sitting prim and hugely gravid in the room they've set up for all the new arrivals. He still hasn't gained enough weight, giving him an unusually severe look, but with a baby in his arms, the impression he gives off is as sweet as the Virgin Mother. 

"You'll be ending your forty-second week soon." Antigone goes down on his knees before him, and presses his cheek against the swaddled bundle of love, and mama's bare hand. "Father says you've always popped us out around thirty-nine, at least. Aren't you worried?"

"There's no point," mama says almost in a whisper, rocking, rocking, the infant whose name Antigone isn't even sure of. They all run together after a while, set apart more by development and what food they'll eat than their actual identities. Mama probably knows. "No point. As long as he stays inside me, he'll be safe."

Mama looks at him directly, eyes shining. "You were one thing... even the twins, I could accept. But Gideon was just a baby!" He crumples, face pressed needily into the infant. He doesn't cry out loud, but his back shivers delicately. The baby starts to wail.

Antigone tries to comfort him... a touch on the arm... and is heartbroken to feel no response.

He trudges back downstairs, and washes the dirty plates to take his mind off mama. Wonders how soon after a pregnancy one can get pregnant again. He hopes seed won't take with him for a while yet.

He will have a new baby brother soon. He believes it. Nothing bad will happen to it. Mama is just upset, has always been delicate. But until then, he still has Felix, who is barely six. It's been so long since father last impregnated mama, before Dinah. That's his fault. After he got pregnant, mama wouldn't conceive anymore. If he hadn't, mama would still be popping out plenty of baby brothers for him by now. As a big brother he'd be annoyed but everyone would still be...

But here he is, still thinking about mama.

What does he do with himself? What can he do? For one frightful moment, he feels untethered from everything.

 

 

Night comes. So does he, several times, with father's mouth between his legs. He won't shut up about Felix. It makes him come harder, but also nervous. He doesn't think he can change anything but if mama was angry about Gideon...

"He's _so_ little," he mumbles, tries to reason. His voice comes out more cooing than he intended it to. "He's not even close to having a baby." It's supposed to be a deterrent, but even as the words leave his mouth, he knows that's what father finds exciting about it. "It'll hurt."

"He'll get used to it."

"He won't understand what's going on. What if he says something to someone?"

"He has _you_ for a big brother, doesn't he? No one would take him seriously."

Antigone's face burns. He tries to pull away. "What are you trying to say?"

"Only what everyone else says," father says, half-smiling. "That you're a whore. I can't even go shopping without everyone whispering around me."

"The only reason I played that up was so no one would get in trouble."

"And your father appreciates your sacrifice," father says smoothly, pulling his hips back down to him. His fingers slide in his puffy slit, dragging his wetness up and down his engorged little clitty. "But it's no surprise your little brother would start making things up with such a bad influence in the house. Toma is turning into a problem child, too."

Much against Toma's will. He won't speak to him much now either, and when he does, it's usually to be pissy. 'Because of you, no one will talk to me. Because of you, men keep trying to touch me.' But Antigone hadn't forced him into anything. He should at least be mad at father since he was the one to knock him up, but all he does around him is grumble.

"Everything will be fine if you just keep being a good big brother."

 

 

Antigone gets into Felix's bed that night and wonders what sort of person he had been. Had he been compliant or strong-willed? Needy or independant? Reserved or outgoing? Whoever you were, he thinks blankly, you'll be different after this.

His own early childhood is nearly nonexistant to him. All he remembers are a few fuzzy images. There is no recall about what he had been. Then he remembers his childhood before the night he was first impregnated, and knows things were simpler, he was happier, better accepted, more cheerful.

Felix is so little. He won't have that 'before'. It'll be like his entire life began with this.

So who you were doesn't matter anyway.

He barely stirs. Antigone stays under the blanket because he'll stop if he wakes up and looks at him. And travels down, pulling up the oversized shirt he's wearing (mama's, worn; he smells perfume and body musk on it), fingers rubbing along the waistband of his panties. The faintly pink cotton was probably once white, just washed with something that came off.

The crotch barely digs into the tiniest cleft of a sex. It just smells like soap and skin. His fingers hook into the waistband and pull down, revealing bit by bit the pubic mound, defined with baby fat instead of hormones, and the white lips of his infant sex. It's pink inside, but like his panties, faintly so. Like the pink sapphire on mama's wedding band.

He touches the outside of the vulva first. It's soft, like a marshmallow. The skin springs under his fingers. And so warm. His tongue glides through fairy floss. The clitoris feels like the head of a thimble. The most minutest bump. There's no strong taste, either. Just licking skin.

More than his own saliva is wetting it before long, and the clitty buds more prominently. Felix's thighs jerk against his arms. Baby come fills his mouth.

He pauses to see whether Felix will wake up or not. His breathing is quicker, but still smooth and deep. That's all. But he smells more. Better.

He coaxes his unconscious body into twice more. His mouth is full of his indistinct taste.

By the time Felix starts to stir and mumble and stretch himself awake, he is dewed with a thin sweat, and his sex swollen with arousal.

There's no grand discovery, as Antigone might have expected. The blankets do get pushed down around his head, but after finding him Felix only lays back against his pillows. His chest falls and rises slowly and his face has a languid look to it. He has mama's mouth, sweet and full, slightly parted.

"What're you doin'?"

"Helping you feel nice," Antigone replies, mouthing his adorable slit. "Doesn't it?"

"Mama told me--" He stops, mouth closing, frowning doubtfully. "Mama said that's a bad place."

"If you're family--"

"'specially if you're family." 

Antigone wonders what he told him, and why. Was it because of recent events? Or did it start earlier, to combat some wily person claiming it's fine because they're not a stranger? Felix doesn't seem in any hurry to move though, or be upset at all.

"It's bad for your big brother to help you feel good?"

He continues eating him up. Felix doesn't reply verbally, one way or the other, but his hips tilt up at him and his legs gradually spread until they're well and parted for him. 

Antigone strokes the petal-like folds before inserting one finger, then another. It feels stretched tight around him even with just this, but he's encouraged. It stretches enough to accommodate movement, and Felix's soft noises sound borne of pleasure than discomfort.

It's good that he already feels nice like this. Whether he doesn't have a (responsive?) g-spot or he still needs to develop one, he can't feel anything. It'll be nice enough to get his cunt all filled-out anyway.

Come fills his mouth again. Thin and sweet. "Do you want to practice making babies?"

"I can too? Like you?" 

"Someday." Antigone takes his mouth off to look at him. His fingers continue stretching and thrusting. Felix's thigh shivers against his arm. "You're just a baby too right now, so..."

"Not a _baby_ ," Felix says insistently, sitting up onto his elbows. "Besides. I've seen you do it. It's not hard."

"Oh?" He supposes he'd have to be deaf and stupid not to have heard something and gotten curious. It's not like they try that hard to keep it secret in the house now. "You've seen me making babies? Do you even know what that is?"

"Sex," Felix answers, in an arrogant 'and you thought I didn't know' tone. "I don't even have to practice. I can make a baby, easy."

Antigone does not correct him. This is more convenient. "Well. You want to?"

"Yes!"

He's light as a feather to pick up, so tiny even though he's round with baby fat. He giggles, every squirmy movement squishing his slit into his arm and leaving wet spots.

He carries him over to their parent's room. He nudges open the slightly agape door with his shoulder, and is momentarily surprised to see mama and father in bed together. Not doing anything but talking, it looked like, though they stop as soon as he comes in. Father's hand rests on mama's overripe belly.

"Our littlest hatchling," father says, smiling hard and wide, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "In his mother's shirt. Is he sick? Or... does he just need a kiss goodnight?"

"A kiss, I think," Antigone replies blandly. If he stares hard enough at his father, he can make his face all he sees.

"Bring the baby here, then."

He gets up on the edge of the bed with his knees and lays Felix down. His lips almost on instinct touch the top of his head, somewhere in the mass of black curls. He wonders if this is what it feels like when a father gives his child away to be married. Probably he'll see for himself in a few years time.

Father takes his youngest child in his arms and paws him all over in a way that almost looks affectionate. There's something in it though... more like a cat playing with a mouse. Do his fingers press too tight? Or does his expression give all the context?

Felix giggles, then moans. Only one of father's fingers can fit to rub into his slit. Maybe for that, the sound is somewhat muted. "Did your big brother help you out?" He sounds somewhat cross about it this time too, but Antigone is certain it's for the best. The beginning is the most important part and he doesn't trust father to do it right. Not with any of the babies, anyway.

And while father may not have been planning on moving to the next so soon, honestly, the faster they can get this over with, the better.

"Ginny," Felix says, the g unhesitatingly hard, unlike every guessing stranger Antigone has ever known, "said I can't make a baby."

"Oh? We'll have to show him then, won't we?" father says, looking relatively cheerful. But even his cheer is a stern thing. "I'll do my best."

Antigone moves up the bed, driven both by a sense of curiosity and dread. He's been careful to avoid mama this whole time, afraid of what he'd see there. He can't help it now, and his poor poor mama looks ill and lost. Mama doesn't really look at him either, but his hand presses into the small of his back, drawing him close.

Antigone still can't grasp the depth of his mama's feelings. But when he thinks of what father showed him earlier, that sad half-lit video, his chest squeezes so tight. Antigone has more or less accepted his situation. He even fought for it. So he doesn't want mama worrying about him. 

He scoots higher, out of mama's press, until he's against the headboards. His chest is too small and bony for anyone to really feel comforted on it, he thinks... but since mama is also small, maybe it will suffice. Mama leans against him easier than he thought he might, like he needed or wanted this too.

Father pushes the blankets down and his cock bobs up. It hits dead-center, the shaft colliding right into Felix's little cleft. Seeing the two together, so close, redoubles Antigone's doubts about fitting. There's just no way. 

"This is going to be tight," father says slowly, guiding Felix's hips back and forth over his cock until they're doing it on their own. "But if you want to make a baby, I have to come in you."

Felix repeats the word doubtfully, looking up with an expression of innocence completely at odds to his lower body.

"That very best part, when your brother was helping you? When a cock--like mine--does it, special milk comes out. If it's inside you, it'll plant a baby."

"That's how sex makes a baby?" Felix looks down, and for the first time seems unsure. Either of the whole situation, or the disparity between their sizes. Whatever he feels, he doesn't say anything else.

"If you're on top, you can go as you like." Father even leans back against his pillows, as though to underline the point. "As long as you go," he adds, with a dangerous note.

Felix is so short he has to nearly stand to give himself enough room to start. Father supports him with his hands almost wholly encircling his waist and allows him to guide himself down... until they immediately hit resistance.

"Is it really gonna fit?" He doesn't sound in pain. Just that he immediately backed off.

"Gideon isn't _much_ bigger than you, and he still took it. You don't want to be the only one who can't, do you?"

"Nooo..."

His pussy keeps sliding over the glans between short attempts at penetration. Each time there's a moment of tension as both go still and careful (Antigone finds even himself holding his breath), slowly pushing into and against each other, before easing up. Antigone is beginning to worry about him drying up from stress when the head finally pops in.

Felix inhales noisily and whooshes it back out. He gives a strained-sounding giggle. His thighs tremble from keeping his position. "Does it have to be all the way in?"

"Of course. How else will my milk get deep enough inside you?"

This time, when his thighs tremble, Antigone thinks it's out of resistance. His pearly milk teeth are gritted in discomfort. That he's still going down at all, bit by bit, is due to father's hands still on his waist. 

Finally, only about a quarter of the way down, he whimpers, "There's no _room_!"

"You've barely got it inside you. Keep trying."

"I can't!" And then, with the great reluctance of one who doesn't want to admit a failure, "it hurts."

"Michel." Mama's voice, low and warning. He doesn't even turn around.

Father looks over at him with an uneasiness that does Antigone's heart good to see. He speaks to Felix in a gentler tone. "Let's try sex like this. Maybe it'll stretch you enough we can go further. But if we can't, and you don't get pregnant, you'll know why."

"Because it's not in deep enough," Felix says glumly.

They keep going slow, back and forth in what are barely little thrusts. Felix enjoys it again, his body being used, with happy whimpers and sloppy wet sounds with every shallow movement. Mama's shirt is held up against his chest, to allow a good view. If he comes it doesn't show--but he had been fairly undemonstrative on that front when Antigone was eating him out, too. 

"Does that feel good, honey?"

"Yes, daddy. It feels really good." His voice is a strange mix of his natural childish tone and sultry pleasure. "It's making me dizzy."

"Try to get a little more in... just a little. Think of how good it'll feel with your pussy stuffed."

"That's gross." But he pauses anyway, face scrunching in concentration as he attempts again to lower himself. His baby cunt tries so hard, nudging down and releasing, on the comparatively enormous slab of meat feeding into it. "It's so full already, daddy."

"It's fine. Just keep trying. Careful."

It's kind of hot, seeing him try to fit it in when it just won't. By the time he stops, face red and sweaty with exertion, he's still only halfway. His poor pussy is so stretched out his clitty is just a blip of meat, like a skin tag, and his lips appear to have disappeared entirely.

It must be doing something for father too, the sight and the feel of a supremely underage cunt, because he at least comes. His fingers dig in so tight Felix squeaks. Semen squeezes right back out and runs down his cock. "The most worthless cunt of all," father says dryly. "But, ah--well. You'll fit before I know it."

Mama turns to examine his baby, who comes to him next on hands and knees. He cradles his face in his hands and kisses his nose. "Does it hurt anywhere?"

"No, mama." Felix looks up almost apologetically at Antigone. "Making a baby is hard after all."

"Very hard," Antigone agrees. "Because you're still a baby."

He makes a face that is probably supposed to be a scowl, but looks like a pout with his features.

Felix goes with mama to bathe himself and get out the 'milk', and only stops by a minute afterwards for a kiss goodnight. He's wearing his own pajamas, canary-yellow and printed with watercolor chicks. Clean, neutral smells waft off his skin again. Soap and detergent. Antigone wonders if it's the same for his sex. Is it clean and neutral too, like nothing happened to it? Or would someone be able to tell?

It's just him, mama, and father in bed tonight. They do not have sex, thankfully, but talk for as long as Antigone bothers to keep himself awake. Mostly, it's father talking. It's probably what they were doing before he came in with Felix. Encouraging him to look forward to the baby, and maybe, you know, brightening up a little. Mama 'mh-hms' through most of it.

He only gives his own piece once, shortly before Antigone drifts off. "That has to be the last of it. I'm not having children for this."

Father says a lot in response to that, a long low murmuring string of words that amount to one thing. Hush.


	9. but not nature. you know she a nasty ho

The question is, where to go from here?

Antigone has been pondering it all night, all day, and still doesn't know. He could just let himself float along, though even that would require a certain kind of bravery from him he's sure he lacks. Because he's itching to do something. Out of guilt, maybe, or shame. Something reckless, something he's not sure he said, for all the reasons he's been over before.

Anyone else knowing about them would separate their family. And probably not just from their father. Antigone has technically been a part of his little brothers getting their hymens taken, but he was young when he was started with, and still really a child. He'd get it easy. But mama is an adult, and even if they did get to stay with him, he'd never be able to take care of them all alone.

The thought of never seeing his brothers again...

Separation still isn't an option. So what is there?

Mama had been more at peace with the way things were before when it was just the eldest of them. If father can be happy that he had the chance at all to fuck the little ones, maybe going back to that will work.

What would it take to sell father on that? Since he's already getting what he wants, a compromise doesn't seem likely. Blackmail? How, without also implicating mama?

The video. Mama would never have been able to love father if he had known he kept something like that around. He could use it; though doing so feels wrong. It's the kind of thing he should be going to police with, not holding over someone's head.

It also feels hypocritical... given his part in things lately.

Maybe what he should do is find a way to get it to mama. Maybe it's wrong for him not to reveal something like this he knows exists. Mama can decide what to do with it.

Father is called away to school a few days later for a concerned parent-teacher meeting. He hadn’t heard much of the details, only that Gideon had started acting out in an inappropriate sexual manner. He’s not too worried about what might come of it. Kids play games of doctor or whatever all the time.

Being a houseful of kids, of course they occasionally messed with their parent’s things. He knows father has always kept his tablet password-protected, but on a timer. Might rain tonight, father said, looking at the weather report and leaving it on the coffee table before picking up his coat.

Five minutes before it locks. He waits anxiously, trying not to seem like he cares at all or even look in its direction, as father finds his shoes, keys, asks mama if he wants him to pick anything up. Father looks cool as a cucumber. Mama has been trying all day to pace on his swollen feet, getting up, managing a lap and a half around the first floor before falling into a couch.

He pockets it the moment father is out the door and hides in the broom closet with it. Mama saw him pick it up, but probably not really. If he did he doesn’t care.

The screen swipes up and immediately shows the desktop. He squints against the sudden light. The background picture is a photo of mama from the chest up, smiling radiantly, shoulders bare. Tears glimmer in his eyes. They match the stone on his proudly displayed ring finger. 

Antigone hesitates a moment, then starts going through the files. Recently used. It’ll have an innocuous name, or mumbo-jumbo. Most of the stuff he clicks on doesn’t mean anything to him. A tax file. Report card scans. All placed locally. One with a path to the SD card catches his eye. That’s probably the safest place to put it. If something happened to the tablet, he’d want it separate, safe.

A password prompt comes up.

What if he gets it wrong too many times, and something happens? Even if he says he was wanting to see it for his own amusement, father won’t like him snooping. The worst that could happen is that it locks up extra tight, he supposes. But that wouldn’t do father any good.

The background photo. Father married mama the day he turned eighteen. Worth a try.

March 2nd. Add eighteen to the date of birth. He carefully types it in, digit by digit, to make sure he hasn’t made a typo. Four number form, or six? Longer would seem more secure, so... 03. Then the whole year.

The file window comes up. He whooshes out a breath and leaves the closet.

“Mama,” he calls, voice as weak and trembling as his knees. “There’s something... you should see this.”

“Your father’s,” mama states dully, as Antigone sits at his knees, chest rounded over his taut belly. Mama feels sluggish beneath his own fluttering pulse. Too cool for the life inside him. “Shouldn’t be touching that.” The last of the sentence drifts into nothing. He’s barely looking at him.

“I know. But, um. But he has something I think you should know.” Because I don’t know what to do. Because you’re my mama. Because you’re an adult. Please know what to do. “Just look, okay?”

He double-clicks the file and turns the tablet over for mama to see.

A few seconds pass. A curdling dread drops his stomach for the shocked recognition that suddenly electrifies mama’s face. Then nothing. He watches the video play with rapt attention, face and body deathly-still except for the tremoring of his pupils.

It sounds like a keening dog at first. A miserable sound smothers in mama’s mouth, behind the gradually revealed clenched teeth. The tremoring turns into an earthquake. His hands slap against his face as it collapses with an unnumerable wave of emotions, producing a resounding slap that startles Antigone into withdrawing. His ass jolts against his heels.

Mama keeps smacking, smacking and dragging, imprinting his palms on his skin, and spots of blood where his nails dig in. The keening noise turns into a shriek, with a raw full-throatedness. 

After a moment’s paralysis, he drops the tablet and grabs onto one of mama’s flailing hands, then almost lets go when the other one crashes into his cheek. His teeth scrape against his tongue. Blood floods his mouth and dribbles down his chin. “Mama!” he has to scream, to make himself heard, “stop!”

Mama pulls again, so hard his nails bend back and sting. He kicks away and goes silent when his back thuds against the arm of the chair. The scoured lines on his wrist stand out bright white, then warm with an irritated red. When he hides his face in his hands, they look like a brand.

Antigone stays kneeling, heartbeat thumping in his ears and cheek. He hears whispering in the other room, faint under the rain drumming on the roof. “Mama? Mama...” It’s all he can think to say, all that wants to leave his mouth, like some kind of idiot fish. “Mama, I--” need you, so please stop? Please go back to normal, before any of this ever happened? Pretend this doesn’t exist? Tell me what needs to be done?

Mama had tried before, for their sake, to be an adult and do the right thing. But for him. But. But? But… if they could pretend it hadn't happened, if nothing had to change—all he wants are impossible things.

With a mounting sense of horror, he realizes he was doomed from the moment he spent that night in his parent's bed. None of it should ever have happened.

His brain is stretching too thin. What is this feeling? His skeleton feels slightly off-center from his flesh. A layer on top. Below? Because of mama’s skin inside his nails? For being bad bad BAD

(it’s all your fault)

Water breaks, soaking into the cushions. Thunder breaks. Mama starts, then cries softly. Nononono, he mutters as he does, nononono. It’s too much. The noise. The sight. Too much water, wet, the sound of outside and crying, the spreading stain, mama’s cheeks. But what has to be done, must be done. No matter how painful, or the great change it necessitates.

“The baby’s coming, mama,” he says, or thinks he does. Cotton is in his mouth, and in his fingertips. Mama jerks away from his touch but it’s numb for him. Mama says something, but it’s impossible over all the wet. It’s being in a ship during a storm and trying to hear aboveboard. “It’s not hard. You can do it.”

Gravid mama’s belly has been too big for most clothes a while now. Nightgowns are all now. Mama slaps at him again, but there’s too much belly in the way to get a good aim. Easy to grab onto his legs and help force them apart. The muscles tremble in trying to close. But gravid mama is also tired, malnourished. He has no strength to resist hard or for long.

"Push." Mama doesn't look cooperative, but how can he resist when everything in his body is screaming? His sex pulses reluctantly, like it's being held back from blooming. " _Push_."

Mama sobs something about it being too soon. Not dilated enough. But he's so overripe he's bound to drop quickly. Might as well get into the rhythm of things.

He stays with mama a long time. Maybe an hour, before mama finally starts to crown. His siblings come and go with water or a washcloth, but mostly seem to want to stay away. The front door opens. Even in the fuzziness he feels a pool of unease spread inside him.

Mama tenses up like he's trying to close his legs. The most pathetic whimper comes out of his throat.

"What's going on... oh, I _see_."

Footsteps creak across the floor behind him, until father comes into his peripheral vision. Father reaches out, to lay some kind of comforting hand on mama, but it barely gets close before it's slapped down with a sharp noise that resounds in his eardrums.

"What's gotten into you?" father asks, rubbing his hand. Antigone doesn't want to look at him, but he sounds more hurt than mad. "Are you in that much pain?"

Mama tightly shakes his head. His chin quivers. "How could you do that to me?"

"What? What are you talking about? I haven't done--"

Father tries to move closer again. Mama kicks him, heel solidly connecting against the meat of his upper leg. "Don't touch me!"

Antigone stares straight ahead. He wishes he could cover his ears, but he needs his hands to catch the baby.

"Honey--"

"Don't 'honey' me, you fuck!" Mama's voice is too thick and shakey with tears to sound intimidating. Father grabs his knee, then wrist, as he forces his way onto the couch with him. A wave of sobs travels down mama's body, shaking, pushing, showing the translucent blue of the emerging baby's eyelids. Antigone cups its soft, cone-shaped skull.

Father hovers over mama, kissing his turned cheek, and makes soft hushing noises against his sweaty hair. What struggle that's left in mama is like a dying butterfly. "I still don't know what I've done wrong."

"I saw it. The video." He sniffs. "I loved you. I _trusted_ you."

Father barely pauses before replying, but he can feel the weight of his eyes on him and the discarded tablet. "Honey, I don't know what you think you saw, but you have to be mistaken."

"I'm not stupid."

"Of course not," father says in a sweet, coaxing voice. His thumb rubs in small smoothing circles on mama's wrist. "But you've been under so much stress lately. It's no wonder you're seeing things."

The baby comes through to the neck, flat-nosed and fat-cheeked. Now just the shoulders, and the rest should come easy.

"How dare you? I'm not..."

Father is smothering him in love. His lips tenderly touch each open break in his skin. "Did you do this to yourself? My poor sweet thing. I've been selfish, haven't I? This has all been so hard on you."

"Don't. Stop. What you've done..."

" _I_ never did anything to you, remember? That's why you fell in love with me."

"You kept a video of me! You looked for it, and kept it!"

"There is no video." His breathing, voice, is slow and sure. "I love you."

Mama sobs and hiccups and with another pull, is allowed his hands. They go right back over his face, palms pressed hard against his eyes, as if by doing so he could block everything out. Father strokes his hair, then his belly.

"You're so stressed because you never wanted me with the little ones, right? I understand. I can't take it back, but I can stop."

The hand-curtain warily parts.

"All I need... is one thing. Then it can just be you, me, and Antigone again."

The sound of his name hurts inside. But it's for the best. Just not the others. That's a big sibling's job, after all. The baby's shoulders finally pass, then the healthy baby potbelly with the umbilical cord, and chubby legs, tiny toes. His newest little brother. Dinah. A strangely distant feeling of warmth fills his chest. What color is his hair beneath the goop?

"Give me the baby. We can tell everyone--" mama's crying turns into an abrupt shriek "--you had a late miscarriage." His voice is still so awfully calm. "Let me have just this one thing, and everything else will be how you want it. You won't need to worry about anything again."

"My baby," mama blubbers between breaths, "my baby, please god, not my baby."

"It'll be over soon."

His fingers are too numb to hold on. It's worse. Like ice inside him. Father takes Dinah out of his hands as he takes his first gasp and starts to cry. He hasn't been much of a mama himself, and this isn't his child. Maybe it's only because of what's going to happen that the sound harrows him. 

The umbilical cord is just long enough to reach father's lap. He shushes it, and rubs back the fine down of hair on its head. It seems to glint blonde. "What a pretty little boy. We'll remember him."

Mama turns away and collapses his upper body against the arm of the couch. His entire body heaves with each sob. 

The baby wails even louder. Antigone remembers something about babies being able to recognize their mother's voice. Can he hear his mama's grief? Or is it just upset by the noise?

Just one of father's fingers is so big it covers Dinah's entire vulva. The pointer finger slowly drives up and down the tiny cleft, lubricated by birthing fluids. Dinah's skin is mottled and blotchy but his sex is the familiar pink.

The baby quiets little by little, then shakes all over. Antigone feels both faint arousal between his legs and disgust. His newborn brother just had his first orgasm. The trembling and kicking of his legs can't be anything else. Father keeps rubbing him off (the memory of his first night with father hits him strong, and the heat between his legs burns bright) and making his infant son come all over his finger until the sound of his pussy is wet and sloshy.

"What a good boy... such a good boy." Father bends over to increase the slack in the cord, and buries his mouth between his legs. The air is filled with wet wet wet, sucking and licking, baby Dinah quivering and gurgling. 

He hates it, but it's making his clitty throb. His panties are moistening. He wonders how a baby experiences pleasure, if you could make it come its brains out. It's not fair. How could he want to touch himself to this?

Father's mouth and chin are glistening when he pulls off. He holds Dinah up, facing Antigone, showing off the infant sex he made so puffy and moist it's dripping baby-come between its legs. "Undo my belt and zipper, Antigone."

Don't make me a part of this, he thinks, but reaches for father's fly. The belt comes undone easily once he gets his fingers to cooperate. The zipper stutters over the cock straining beneath. It's already pre-coming when he takes it out.

Then he sits back and presses his hands to his cheeks because otherwise something will shake loose.

Father lowers Dinah slowly, inexorably down. The glans alone is so big. He pushes down on it. The baby starts to fuss, limbs flailing. The pressure must be unimaginable. More, more, too much. The tip must be going in. Dinah goes back to wailing. Mama scream-cries, fingers burying in his hair, maybe covering his ears. He'd do the same (cover or scream or something) but if he moves he might vomit.

The glans finally wedges itself in. Dinah's face is turning purple. Asphyxiating itself on its voice. A more merciful way to go. Father groans, brow knitted in concentration, and pulls, pulls. Blood runs down his cock. 

No, Antigone realizes. If he moves, he might faint. He's only heard about this clammy air-headed feeling before but it's not hard to recognize. That might be merciful, too. But this is his little brother, and everything is his fault. Staying around to watch is the least he can do.

Oh, Dinah's poor insides. His poor hipbones. Father's cock is standing out against his belly. Dinah isn't screaming anymore. He really does look like he's choking on his voice. It's only halfway. The smell of blood is pungent.

Father tightens his grip on the baby's hips and thrusts in earnest as though he were using a cock sleeve and not his ten-minute old son. Antigone searches its face for the last flicker of awareness, the last moment before the lights go out. It lives what seems an agonizingly long time before a dullness enters its eyes. Shortly after it expires father hilts himself completely and loudly moans his way through climax.

He continues thrusting into it afterward, with a post-coital air of indulgence. Slowly, eyes closed. His vocalized orgasm is unusual enough for him but he keeps fucking it, cock still rock-hard in its mess of blood and semen, fucking that ruinously tight cunt until he comes again in short order. His neck cords stand out up to his thrown-back head.

Then, with an explosive sigh, he relaxes like a mound of jelly and yanks Dinah off his cock. The sight of the mess is gut-churning enough. Antigone can't bring himself to look directly at the disaster area made of his baby brother's genitals. 

Mama shudders, and passes the placenta.

Antigone stares at the hagfish creature laid on the floor, and the umbilical cord. Dinah is completely separate from mama now. Somehow it makes him sad. 

Father leaves to clean himself up, and bury the baby in the backyard. Mama is inconsolable. Even when he stops crying he doesn't respond to anything. Antigone hides in his bed and rubs himself off to a quaking come that squirts all over his fingers yet leaves him feeling even worse in his head. His siblings whisper to each other, but say not a word to him, or their parents, as far as he knows.

Concerning them, father keeps his promise in the days to come. It's just the three of them now in bed. Mama tries hard to move along. He still goes to work, and looks after his children. He still makes love with father. None of what happened that night is discussed, but there's an emptiness in his eyes. A positive pregnancy test at work causes a mental breakdown that is attributed to his miscarriage. 

Father is the perfect dutiful husband. "It won't be like before," he reassures, tone appropriately somber, eyes laughing. "Never again."

Another Dinah is born. Mama dotes obsessively on it but slowly regains his confidence. They are a happy married couple, with their beautiful children. Nothing has ever happened to them that shouldn't have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE! Thank ya'll for the company, it's been a wild ride, and I hope you enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> the peace of an empty head


End file.
